When Two Prophecies Collide
by SoundofInsurrection
Summary: Sequel to When Two Worlds Collide. Read the first installment, otherwise you're going to be very confused. For those who have read WTWC, welcome back for one wild ride as the crew stares down the barrel of an impending apocalypse.
1. Chapter 1 Ever Your Faithful Servant

**A/N: **It shouldn't still need saying, but as this is a new installment, I will place the **disclaimer** that all places, historical persons, cultures, mythos, music, and other such aspects of the real world, including the obvious inspiring source of the Dragonlance books, that appear in this work are used for fictional purposes, ones that I in no way profit from, and artistic liberties to change details are knowingly taken to tell what will hopefully be an immersive story. Do not take them to be actual reflections of reality; nor a reflection of ill will, disrespect, or personal endorsement on any aspect's origins for the usage, (except Dragonlance, as I think it's fantastic and everyone should go buy and read the core books.) All elements of this story, real or imagined, were chosen with careful consideration as fitting embroideries of the tale being told and are only meant to be taken in that context.

*takes a deep breath* Now that that's out of the way, sit back and enjoy the show as the wills of Gods and Champions clash and we all find out what happens When Two Prophecies Collide.

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**The Prophecy of Ragnarök**

**As translated from remnants of the Nordic Eddas**

"Someday- when the Norns, the spinners of fate, decree it- there shall come a fimbulvetr, a Great Winter, unlike any other the world has yet seen. The biting winds will blow snows from all directions, and the warmth of the sun will fail, plunging the earth into unprecedented cold. This winter shall last the length of three normal winters, with no summers in between. Mankind will become desperate for food and other necessities of life, and all laws and morals will fall away, leaving only the struggle for survival. It will be an age of swords and axes; brother slaying brother, fathers and sons slaying one another.

The wolves Skoll and Hati, who have hunted the sun and the moon through the skies since the beginning of time, will at last catch their prey. The stars, too, will disappear, leaving nothing but a black void in the heavens. Yggdrasil, the great tree that holds the cosmos together, will tremble, and all the trees and even the mountains will fall to the ground. The chain that has been holding back the monstrous wolf Fenrir will snap, and the beast will run free. Jormungand, the mighty serpent who dwells at the bottom of the ocean and encircles the land, will rise from the depths, spilling the seas over all the earth as he makes landfall.

These convulsions will shake the ship Naglfar free from its moorings. This ship, which is made from the fingernails and toenails of dead men and women, will sail easily over the flooded earth. Its crew will be an army of giants, the forces of chaos and destruction. And its captain will be none other than Loki, the traitor to the gods, who will have broken free of the chains in which the gods have bound him.

Fenrir, with fire blazing from his eyes and nostrils, will run across the earth, with his lower jaw on the ground and his upper jaw against the top of the sky, devouring everything in his path. Jormungand will spit his venom over all the world, poisoning land, water, and air alike.

The dome of the sky will be split, and from the crack shall emerge the fire-giants from Muspelheim. Their leader shall be Surtr, with a flaming sword brighter than the sun in his hand. As they march across Bifrost, the rainbow bridge to Asgard, the bridge will break and fall behind them. An ominous horn blast will ring out; this will be Heimdall, the divine sentry, blowing the Gjallarhorn to announce the arrival of the moment the gods have feared. Odin will anxiously consult the head of Mimir, the wisest of all beings, for counsel.

The gods will decide to go to battle, even though they know what the prophecies have foretold concerning the outcome of this clash. They will arm themselves and meet their enemies on a battlefield called Vigrid, the plain where battle surges.

Odin will fight Fenrir, and by his side will be the einherjar, the host of his chosen human warriors whom he has kept in Valhalla for just this moment. Odin and the champions of men will fight more valiantly than anyone has ever fought before. But it will not be enough. Fenrir will swallow Odin and his men. Then one of Odin's sons, Vidar, burning with rage, will charge the beast to avenge his father. On one of his feet will be the shoe that has been crafted for this very purpose; it has been made from all the scraps of leather that human shoemakers have ever discarded, and with it Vidar will hold open the monster's mouth. Then he will stab his sword through the wolf's throat, killing him.

Another wolf, Garm, and the god Tyr will slay each other. Heimdall and Loki will do the same, putting a final end to the trickster's treachery, but costing the gods one of their best in the process. The god Freyr and the giant Surtr will also be the end of each other. Thor will succeed in felling the great snake, Jormungand, with the blows of his hammer, but the serpent will have covered him in so much venom that he will take nine paces before falling dead himself and adding his blood to the soil of Vigrid.

Then the remains of the world will sink into the sea, and there will be nothing left but the Void. Creation and all that has occurred since will be completely undone, as if it had never happened."

**The Prophesy of the Age of the Daughter**

**As foretold by Aradia of Italy and passed down by Stregheri oral tradition**

"...But they shall make our practices an evil thing, and they shall seek to destroy us. So shall they steal independence from the people, and make them dependent upon the Church and its misguided priests.

When the Pope shall come again into Rome and establish his power anew, then shall you know the first of all sorrows. With this shall the eyes and ears of all the Churches be upon our ways. And they shall make strict laws against us. Then shall come great sorrows, for they will openly hunt us down and slay us. In their prisons shall they torture us and create all manners of lies, forcing us to bear witness to all they say. This time shall not pass quickly, for the Church shall grow in power.

But their time of power shall not last, for the Age of the Son will pass away and the Age of the Daughter shall come upon the world in all its glory.

When the Age of the Daughter is near there shall be an awakening in the awareness of women, and their wills shall be asserted. Laws will then change and women shall walk in equal power once more. And the followers of the Old Religion shall receive a sign, for the last of the laws which persecute us shall vanish.

In that time the prophets will emerge, and they will prepare the way for She who will come. These prophets shall be teachers of the Old Ways, whom many will come to call the Silent Prophets for the guises in which their teachings are delivered, and herald the coming of The Consorts who shall stand in protection of Her sanctity.

When the Age of the Daughter stands ready to replace that of the Son, then shall The Daughter appear and establish Her reign. She shall be thirty-six at this time; and She will be known by Her command of the sacred forces of Nature to defend itself from such desecration as has been done to The Mother, and by Her ability to heal The Mother's children of their most grievous of ailments.

Such changes will occur on the Earth, which the people of that time have never seen before. The people of the Earth will be tested, their hearts put through grievous trials. There shall be upheaval as families turn on one another and great battles shall tear deep wounds across the face of the world. But there shall also be renewal as the Old Ways make their resurgence and the Light of The Daughter drives out the corruption that threatens to consume the soul of the world.

Out of the ashes shall arise the new world.

The Earth shall be of one people as the Gods meant for them to be; and by the grace of The Daughter and Her Holy Consorts they shall live under the emanating rays of love, peace, and reason."

**Book One**

Chapter One

Ever Your Faithful Servant

Sunday, October 4, 2009

1 mile outside the base of Mount Kailash

Gangdisê Mountains, Tibetan Province, China

Mount Kaliash was not as imposing as many mountains within the region, rising up 6,638 meters and forming naturally into the shape of a four sided pyramid with rounded edges and a soft sloping peak. Unlike its famously jagged and deadly cousin, Mount Everest, however, Mount Kailash was a site considered deeply sacred to several religions in East Asia. So much so that, even in modern times, all but the base of the mountain was kept devoid of human exploration or development. Members of Tibetan Buddhism called the mountain Kangri Rinpoche, the 'Precious Snow Mountain". The mountain had many other names among other orders and religions outside Tibetan Buddhism.

Among all mythos of the regions, by one means or other, the summit was considered an entry way to the heavens. It was said that only a man entirely free of sin could climb Kailash, and he wouldn't need to scale the ice, as he'd be able use magic from the divine to turn into a bird and fly to the summit.

In the last two centuries, before the mountain became so heavily guarded by government officials, there were a few recorded attempts by western men who had little respect for "Eastern superstition" managing to get close to the mountain with the hope to scale it. Those attempts unanimously met with failure. Even if they started out on the clearest of days, the weather would unfailingly turn again them, storms rising up around the mountain and forcing them to abort their attempts.

The Tibetan Buddhists related a story of the Champion of the Vajrayana, Milarepa. Milarepa was an interesting character in Buddhist mythos, as related by Lemuel, who had grown up learning such stories. The man was once a murderer with a little known past who sought atonement for his sins and went to a well-known yogi for training to absolve himself of the negative karma on his soul. Milarepa was put through years of difficult trials that some would consider abusive; including being asked to construct three towers, each greater than the last, and ordered after each construction to tear down his work, to teach him humility and the passing nature of one's deeds.

Milarepa did every deed his teacher ordered of him, committing himself to learn each lesson as it was given. By the end of Milarepa's trials, he had managed to purify his soul to the point of rising up into an enlightened state, gaining access to ancient magics gifted by the divine and using the forces at his disposal to aid the suffering of those around him and spread the teachings of the ways of the holy Buddha to find inner peace.

Milarepa traveled to this region of ancient Tibet nearly a millennium earlier, and challenged the Champion of the Bön religion, Naro Bönchung, to a battle of faiths and rights to the mountain for their people. The two magicians engaged in a terrifying sorcerers' battle, but neither was able to quite gain the advantage over the other to secure a victory. Finally, they came to an agreement to settle the matter. Whosoever could reach the summit of Mount Kailash would be declared the victor, and if both could then it would be decided by who reached it first.

Naro Bönchung had a magical drum in his possession, upon which he sat and it began to fly him up the slope. Milarepa's followers were perplexed because the mystic sat at the base of the mountain and meditated. Naro's lead gained by the minute, soaring ever closer to the peak, but Milarepa continued his quiet meditations. And then, as Naro was nearly to the top, Milarepa suddenly stood and stepped onto the sunlight itself, and the sun's rays transported him to the top of Kangri Rinpoche almost instantly, allowing Milarepa to claim victory for the Vajrayana. Milarepa, in his beneficence, took up a handful of snow from Kangri Rinpoche and tossed it onto the top of the nearby mountain, naming it Bönri and bequeathing it to the Bönpo people to allow them continued connections with the region in place of being able to claim Kangri Rinpoche.

Since Milarepa's ascent up the mountain, no man had been granted access to the summit, but the base of the mountain was considered nearly as sacred and open for pilgrimage. Thousands of spiritual adherents made that pilgrimage each year.

Some sat in quiet prayer in a spot considered sacred to their beliefs.

Others made their way around the base of the mountain, a 52 kilometer journey, with some insisting it must be traveled clockwise, and others saying it must be counter-clockwise. And while making such a journey, there were prayers to be given.

For some, that required a supplication, bowing low and saying prayers as sacred symbols were traced with one's hands, then crawling forward a short way and repeating the process. Such a process of prayerful devotions took nearly four weeks to complete, if one was in hale health to make a marathon of it with minimal rest.

For others, the greater proof of one's spiritual purity was making a circuit of the mountain in a single 24 hour period of time. This was made difficult because of the uneven terrain, harsh weather conditions, and problems with altitude sickness. For one in proper shape, with preparatory training for such an endeavor, however, it had been recorded as not only possible to make that 24 hour deadline, but be comfortably done in as little as 15 hours. There were also the complications for those so bold but perhaps not as sincere of spirit, of experiencing mental disquiet or hallucinations of any number of varieties that would shake one's resolve and send them running away from the mountain before their trek was complete. Some dismissed those latter reports as fiction, or a product of either physical taxation in such an environment or self-induced mental tricks from being in the extended isolation of the setting.

No matter the religion or means of seeking communion, and no matter the potential risks, spiritual adherents still came in a steady trickle throughout the year to Mount Kailash in somber reflection, hoping that, like many reportedly before them, they'd be graced with good fortune in their lives or a spiritual revelation allowing one to clear their soul of sins weighing it down.

All, that is, but one…

It was nearly 2,700 kilometers, or 1,700 miles to Americans, as the crow flies from a certain valley outside Khatgal, Mongolia to Kangri Rinpoche. A half dozen men had set out 27 days earlier to make the sacred journey, having to allot so much time because the borders between the country they were coming from and China were so heavily guarded, and then once in China they had to be all but ghosts to get through to the Tibetan Province the Chinese kept occupied. One of their members, the youngest of their group at 22 years of age, whom they were undertaking this sojourn for, was unable to reveal himself or his intended destination to authorities; not without risking immediate detainment for travelling without proper paperwork, and creating a record that would give away his whereabouts to enemies when they inevitably came searching for him. Completing the journey undetected was one of the elements of his Test.

About 1,000 miles of that journey had been undertaken by vehicles switched out periodically, and it had taken two days to traverse along backroads at a quiet pace that would not attract attention. Another 200 miles of that distance had been undergone at a few prearranged points by horseback riding. The Mongolian Clan being careful not to overexert their beloved steeds for such a long distance, except when they needed bursts of speed to avoid detection, managed to lead them over that distance in a respectable seven days. The remaining eighteen days of travel was from interspersed days between the other two modes of travel, the group traveling by foot to get past sensitive areas, especially the last ten miles to reach Kangri Rinpoche.

And as their arduous journey to reach that sacred mountain was finally drawing to a close, Rhuadhán Daye was in the midst of quietly singing a song in irreverent humor for just how many miles he had just got done cumulatively walking and why he had made this dangerous trip. Much to Magie's obvious annoyance; despite the fact that the young mage-priest could clinically give himself credit for having quite the pleasant singing voice, and he pretended as though he otherwise didn't see the problem...

"...But I would walk 500miles

And I would walk 500more..."

...Thankfully, two of the four wolf escorts they were with didn't speak so much as a word of English, so Magie was able to tell them the young Champion was singing a mantra in praise of making the journey safely. As for the other two, they knew him well enough by now to shrug off the attitude. Some of the greatest Yogis, and His Holiness the Dalai Lama himself, were known to have an occasionally irreverent sense of humor because being too serious of one's self and purpose in life led to destructive shades of pride. The young man with hair of fire and blood and eyes the color of the most sacred of stones (the latter of which was the source of their current name for him- Nominchono, which meant "Lapis Wolf') had found his stride over the last few years. It had become undeniable that he focused like none other when it mattered and they had seen glimpses of him being able to command magics that, even by their standards, were otherworldly and yet another sign of Divine Favor. And despite his current behavior, he had spent the majority of the trip following traditional procedure. They'd honestly be more concerned if the potential Ariunkhan, the "Sacred King", seemed in doubtful spirits about the chances of success for this trial.

"...Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles

To fall down at your door..."

...Magie's excuse to the less familiar two also wasn't a lie, per se; as Rhuadhán couldn't be happier to be at the end of this part of their journey, even if the hard part was yet to come and then they had to make the same journey back. With all his training since childhood, it wasn't terribly physically taxing for him to make the trip on the surface. However, his father and mentors, and even that gods damned traitor-he-called-his-best friend Lemuel, had insisted that the trip to Kangri Rinpoche be spent in careful fasting, and as much meditation as possible...

"...Da da da (da da da)

Da da da (da da da).

Da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da..."

...He was really bloody hungry. If there weren't five people present, watching his every move and making sure he stuck to this borderline starvation regimen, he'd be sorely tempted to hunt himself down the first animal he could find and possibly skip cooking it just to get the meat in his stomach all the faster. He could hardly wait to break his fasting once this was over...

"Da da da (da da da)

Da da da (da da da)

Da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da…"

...And despite running through his mental exercises as devotedly as he could for an entire lunar cycle, he hadn't experienced any visits from The Three. Not even a brush of their presence to confirm that this journey would please them.

Even still, he was here, because this would secure (for this region of the continent, anyway) recognition of his status and rights to command the servants of the Gods of Light and Dark and coordinate their efforts when it came time to push back against their enemies. This was the next step to prove to the Gods he was worthy of being Consort to The Daughter…

"…When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who's lonely without you…"

…Consort to that enticing vixen with hair kissed by The Mother and eyes of Starlight and Shadows; who had been tormenting his sleep with dreams of soft curves adorned in the colors of the sky at nightfall and undulating like waves of the sea, and then bared piece by piece and writhing beneath him as he found out what magic made flesh tasted like…

"…And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream

I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you…"

…Only to wake up and find those desires immensely unfulfilled; and in almost three years there hadn't been a woman within hundreds of miles who could get a proper rise out of him because they weren't _Her_…

"…When I go out (when I go out) well I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you…"

…That bewitching maiden with the sweetest smile on those delicious looking lips, and had an air of pure and untamed vibrance as a reflection of Nature itself; whose mere image had utterly unmanned him in one fateful instant, and whose name he still hadn't been permitted to learn…

"…And when I come home (when I come home) yes I know I'm gonna be

I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you…"

…Because names had power and if he knew _Her_ name he might at least be able to scry for her and watch her as he liked or, preferably, sneak away from his training and go to the States to track her down. No, that couldn't be allowed. It wasn't time yet; he hadn't proven himself worthy of claiming _Her_…

"I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you…"

…Oh, how he resented and desired that damnable woman who had taken up residence in his head for the last 2 years, 9 months, 17 days and, judging by the fact the sun was minutes from being completely set, 12hours and about 15 minutes... He could find respite in his studies, whether martial or magical; but whenever he tried to take a break, his mind was soon wandering to _Her_ and longing to find out if she'd be able to provide him with relief by fulfilling all the fantasies he had piling up.

"…But I would walk 500miles…"

…_She_ better be worth all this damnable trouble…

"…And I would walk 500more…"

…Because thoughts of _Her_ were driving him absolutely fucking insane…

"Just to be the man who walks a thousand miles…"

…And he barely knew anything about _Her_…

"…To fall down at your door…"

…Bloody Magie and his damned Yule "gift"…

"…Da da da (da da da)..."

...More like poison in a devastatingly beguiling packaging...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...And he was the fool who was craving downing the whole toxic bottle after just a whiff made him this ill...

"...Da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da…"

...Gods above did he want to find out what that smooth creamy skin tasted like...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...And just how soft it would feel beneath his hands...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...Oh, he was going to make that divine minx pay for this someday...

"...Da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da..."

...When he finally managed to properly awaken his powers, the first thing he was going to do was create a cozy little dimension between moments in time where they wouldn't be disturbed...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...And then, goddess or not, he was going to make _Her_ come to understand what sort of torment he was being put through right now...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...Every excruciating minute, he was going to return onto _Her_ threefold to bring her to the edge of madness...

"...Da da da dun diddle un diddle un diddle uh da..."

...Watch _Her_ be the one to tremble with unsatiated need, watch that luscious form writhe in increasing desperation for satisfaction just out of reach...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...Hear those precious rosy lips make a rhapsody of his name; praying, begging, in every note her divine voice could reach, for relief...

"...Da da da (da da da)..."

...He wasn't going to give _Her_ a release until he was absolutely certain that she'd be stumbling back to her duties with her thoughts as much of a tangle of anticipation for her next fix as he had been for her...

"...Da da da dun..."

"Rhuadhán," Magie's quiet voice cut over the younger magic-user's preoccupied singing, drawing his attention. "We're going to be in the hearing distance of guards within the next minute. I'm expending enough magic to keep us from sight; I'm not also keeping you from being heard."

Rhuadhán heaved a sigh and gave a mocking salute. "Right. Time for Stealth Mode. On it like a car bonnet."

Magie gave him the look that said the mentor was considering strangling him.

Rhuadhán arranged his face into an appropriately penitent expression; causing the dark man to give a disdainful snort and shake of his head because Magie knew him too well to actually buy it. Sarcastic as the reply might have been, the young Champion did turn his focus towards walking in silence, making sure the bag over one shoulder didn't rustle about.

Making it past the small outposts of guards ended up being an easy enough endeavor for the six of them. Magie's concealment spell, charitably being utilized for this part of their trip so the apprentice could save his magic for the solo leg of his Test, kept them from sight; and the wolves brought as guides and witnesses for the results of this Test were every bit as stealthy in their movements as their two western wards.

Rhuadhán's sapphire gaze scanned over the mountain as they snuck past the last of the outposts and patrols, heading up the path towards the northern entrance of the roughly delineated footpath that circled around the mountain. In what little light there was from the nearly set sun and rising full moon, the grey slopes appeared a muted blue, and they were were ringed in permanent blankets of snow and ice, giving it the appearance of a fine piece of lapis lazuli or sodalite. To those who believed in omens, that was a propitious one for their purposes being here, as was the clear weather holding out.

Rhuadhán found himself wishing Lemuel was here to see the sight of it; knowing his best friend would appreciate the natural majesty of the mountain. But Lemuel had already made a pilgrimage here as a child, and the mystic wasn't precisely in the best shape to repeat that journey under such strenuous circumstances. Lemuel had stayed behind with his father and Master Horton, both of whom were getting to be too old to put themselves through this ordeal, to prepare the feast that would hopefully be in celebration of his success and get mundane matters settled for their stationary winter encampment.

Batzorig, the Alpha wolf of their expedition and a bear of a man, came to a stop as the footpath became all the rockier and said in a hushed whisper, "This is as far as we are to lead you, Nominchono. We will be waiting for your return along that outcropping." He pointed to a spot opposite of where the Drölma Do resided, a sheltered area of heavy shadows from large rocks near a ledge.

Rhuadhán nodded his understanding and whispered back, "Thank you, my friend, for seeing us safely this far." He took a step forward and hands went out, palms facing up.

Batzorig rest his brawny arms over the younger man's, large hands grasping his elbows and nearly engulfing them, in much the similar way as traditional greetings were given, and spoke the ritual blessings for such an undertaking before parting. "May The Celestial Wolf's merciful gift of Light guide your way and reveal hidden dangers before you. May The Divine Warrior grant you the strength to not be led astray by the spirits prowling in the shadows. And may The Mother of All grant you the perseverance to complete your journey and safely return."

Rhuadhán gave a small bow of his head and said in return, managing to not trip on the Mongolian words thanks to the "total immersion" tactics of Magie to pick the language up and practicing this particular phrase during their trip, "Those who walk with the blessings of The Three will always find their paths eased and malevolent spirits fleeing before them."

Batzorig gave a single nod and approving clap on the arms, then stepped out of the radius of Magie's magic and darted towards the safety of the shadows. Dark eyes scanned for signs of patrols in case he might need redirect their attention, but it was growing less likely as night had fully fallen and, even with the full moon above, there was enough cover for them to remain hidden. The other two High Priests of the Dark God, Chuluukhüü and Bilguun- the first stout and thickly muscled with a clean shaven face and thick mass of hair in a high tail, the other tall and lean with prematurely silver-streaked hair loose around his lupine face- repeated the embrace for solidarity and blessing to the Priest of the Three, and then silently followed after Batzorig.

Mönkhbold was the last to give the parting blessing- a Priest closest to Ruadhán's own age at 24, and who was earning a measure of his rights to step forward as a High Priest by undertaking this sensitive journey to and from the sacred Mountain under the tutelage of his father, Batzorig. Mönkhbold gave a hint of a smile to the mage-priest after the words were exchanged, and the unlikely friends gave each other a brief hug and slap on the backs. "Remember," Mönkhbold's deep voice rumbled out in quiet warning as they released one another, "to keep those instincts to lunge in check this eve. This is the Season of the Wolf, but so long as you are on the sacred ground of Kangri Rinpoche, you must walk in peace as the Sacrificial Sheep does. Evade danger as you must if it appears, but spill no blood on holy ground, even if something spills yours first."

Rhuadhán nodded and said with a rueful smirk, "I well remember. None of my spells for this evening are combative and I'll be leaving my daggers behind with Magie."

Mönkhbold's lips twitched with another smile, and dark eyes flashed with amusement as he gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Without your thorns to protect you, Tsetseg, I should pray you don't come back crushed."

Rhuadhán gave an exasperated groan to the derogatory nickname, even if spoken in good humor as it now was, and gestured with one hand to where the others were comfortably sitting on one bent knee in wait and ever ready to spring up if a threat exposed itself. "You're lucky we're in the shadow of Kangri Rinpoche right now. Get out of here so I can be on my way."

Mönkhbold grinned and nodded, then trotted to the others with deftly placed steps that kept from rolling and crunching the stones underfoot.

Rhuadhán rolled his eyes with a fleeting smile and then turned his attention to stripping out of his travel clothes to change into the traditional robes meant for this particular sort of ritual while he still had the cover of Magie's magic to shield him from sight.

As the young Champion dressed, Magie was giving last minute reminders to help ensure his safety. "Remember, this isn't a sprint through a field, it's a marathon over uneven and often frozen ground in thinner air. You have just over 13 hours before sunrise, but that's plenty of time with your training if you watch your breathing and properly pace yourself..."

"I'm the tortoise not the hare; don't rush and end up being too tired to make it to the finish line..."

Magie sighed but continued. "Watch your footing. Not only will a twisted ankle keep you from making it back in time, but it'll also make it hell to return because we only have the enchanted salves for the soles of your feet, which won't do a thing for inner injuries..."

"There's no services of a healer, so if I bollocks this up I'll need to walk it off in shame."

"Rhuadhán..." Magie said warningly.

"I'm listening," Rhuadhán said, tossing his pants on the pile of clothes and daggers, then shifted through his bag for the saffron and maroon shemdap waist robe. Sapphire gaze briefly turned up when Magie didn't continue and he said more seriously, "Really, I have been, and am still, listening, even though this is the fifth time in the last moon cycle we've gone over this." He went back to dressing; each precious minute passing was a minute less he had for his journey around the mountain. He spotted the cloth and that went on over otherwise bare skin and he began tying the pleated fabric in place around a waist that was a little leaner than usual from his fasting, making sure to balance the folds properly so they'd not slip and impede his movements.

"Keep an eye out for the wild dogs and snow leopards on the southern fields. If they're roaming up this way in search for food and you attract their attention, you won't be able to kill them to protect yourself..."

Rhuadhán sighed. "I know. And I have memorized the invocation to commune with animals so I can herd them off the path in peace if they're blocking my way overly much in more treacherous areas."

"That will work for a solitary leopard, but might not for packs of dogs depending on how many there are. And you need to try to keep the magic usage to a minimum…"

"So that I have enough for the big finale. I can't afford to draw even more attention to myself from potentially hostile spirits than I might already for circumnavigating the mountain at night, and waste all my reserves on defensive measures. Avoidance to begin with is better where possible."

"You'll have the moonlight for the first half of the way, but once you reach the south-western slopes it'll have gone down too far and the mountains will be blocking it..."

"And no sunstone because that can draw attention from patrols, resting pilgrims, and spirits alike, so that's an appropriate time to cast the spell for seeing in the dark," the Champion said with a hint of impatience, fetching a simple maroon dhonka to secure around his torso. "It's small enough that it shouldn't draw attention unless something particularly nasty and sensitive is in the immediate area. And before you say it, I remember that I need to save the warming cantrips for only my feet when going over snow and ice, or if the weather takes a colder turn than expected and I'm at risk of hypothermia once I'm in the shadows and making the climb back up around. If I catch wind something might be approaching because it sensed the magic from holding two little spells simultaneously, I need to suck it up and drop the warming spell so I can maintain my sight. Speed and not breaking something is more important at that point; you can cast emergency heating spells once I'm over the line."

"Precisely. And while it's the wrong time of year for the worst of them, if spirits do show this evening, remember the order for determining their nature, strength and what to do about them so you don't misjudge the dangers of what's sniffing around you."

"I remember and, besides making use of the cantrip to see the magic in their auras, I have both spells memorized and those talismans Lemuel and father directed me on crafting are among those on the belt."

"And one of the most critical points of all," Magie said, voice stressing each syllable because of the importance, "Keep your mind focused solely on your task at hand."

"I remem…"

Magie interrupted with a critical look, "Don't let it wander like you were on the way in…"

Rhuadhán interrupted back with a displeased look, "I swear to The Three, if you were reading my mind again, I'm…"

"I didn't need to," Magie cut over the protest sharply. "You always get the same look in your eyes when you're thinking about Her."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Rhuadhán muttered, grabbing the thick silk namjar, his final piece of clothing he was allowed to wear. While traditional over-wraps the Vajrayana monks wore were shades of saffron or maroon or a combination of both, depending on the occasion, this one was a molted patchwork of earthen tones that would hide the more traditional robes he otherwise wore and help him blend in against the mountainside to decrease his chances of being spotted by casual viewing from further out patrols.

"Yours, for being undisciplined," Magie said assuredly.

Rhuadhán gave a snort of disagreeing laughter. "I'll keep my mind where it needs to be. I always do when I'm working."

"Yes, but this isn't a normal mission," Magie reminded him. "The forces of the mountain will be trying to test you in all manner of ways. The more your mind wanders, the more you give them to work with, and subsequently the greater your chances for something going awry."

"I know that, Magie," Rhuadhán drawled out in frustration. "Unless I need to do spellwork, I'll be mentally chanting the mantras Lemuel taught me to keep my mind like a white noise to probing."

"And while you need to watch the magic usage, if it seems you're cutting it too close but you're not far off…"

"That's when it's okay to break out the Time magic to speed my movements…" Namjar in place around his shoulders and draping down to his knees, he grabbed his belt of spell catalysts and various talismans to compensate for his limited spellcasting capability at this age, which was the solitary piece of equipment he was allowed to bring. "…because if hostile spirits sense it and give chase at that point, it won't matter because you and the others can handle things the moment they follow me over the line."

Magie nodded in agreement. "As long as you make it over the finish line before sunrise, anything that comes after is moot. And the same goes for guards if you can't evade them by other means, and especially if they're carrying guns. Just get over the line and we'll handle things without breaking Kangri Rinpoche's no-killing rule."

"And it's not cheating to give myself the boost because it's my own power, not an outside stimulant like drugs; nor did you five help me while on the trail around."

Magie nodded again, sardonic smirk forming. "Precisely, Master."

"Careful, Magie," Rhuadhán said with a mirroring smirk. "You almost sounded like you meant the title that time."

"Well, you're a few steps closer to actually deserving it these days, but you're not there yet."

Rhuadhán gave another snort of laughter. "If that's all, I'm going to get moving now."

"Just the last thing. If, Gods forbid, you're in such a desperate situation that your death seems unavoidable and imminent…"

"Send up the magic flare and you'll appear to pull me out. Embarrassing and frustrating as it would be to not finish, it's not worth my life if it turns out I jumped into this too early and need to try again later when I have more magic at my disposal."

Magie gave a nod. "I believe you're ready for this, but things can always take a sudden turn into the unexpected."

"Aww, Magie," Rhuadhán said mockingly, affecting a dopey grin and one hand going to his cheek to feign shock. "You try to act so mean but you really do care!" He had to duck a swipe meant to cuff him in the back of his head.

"I just know we can't afford for you to act like a prideful fool and get yourself dead," Magie said with a scowl. "If you're not serious about doing this, then just say so and we can go home."

Rhuadhán's eyes narrowed as he said immediately with immovable resolve, "Bugger off with that, Magie. I'll take my challenge of this barefoot jog over stony ground and ice to reach a temporarily enlightened state through an acceptance and transcendence of pain, and trying to avoid whatever beasties and things that go bump in the night in the process, so I can make an almost impossible single-evening deadline and be ready to ride the first rays of sunshine to the top of a mountain, with my bloody feet probably dripping the whole way. Come morning, I'm claiming my crown awaiting at the top, and will be that much closer to claiming everything else promised to me."

Magie sighed and simply said in farewell, "You already know you walk with the blessings of The Three, so travel with your head held high and your thoughts on your own matters, and I'll hopefully see you returning before dawn."

With that final blessing given, the young Champion started off down the path, trying to pick out a path of sandy spots, or at least flatter and larger stones, to traverse. When he was out of hearing range of his mentor, he muttered, "This is going to be agony come morning, even with conditioning my feet like we did the last three months, and no matter how good Lemuel and Khishigmaa's concoction is... Milarepa had it easy by comparison, and he had the penance to make of being a gods damned murderer! I kill when it's my duty, and might get a bit testy, but I've never killed someone in cold blood. I'm a fucking saint by comparison! ...I swear, _She_ better taste like ambrosia itself, and have at least half the personality as looks to keep her entertaining between shags, or I'm going to be eternally pissed at you Three for not delivering as promised…" The next words, he doubted would be heard by the one they were meant for, but he still said resentfully, "The things I have to put myself through for you… You better fall to your knees when I finally see you and thank me in all the right ways with nothing but the sincerest enthusiasm for these sacrifices I'm making, or I'll make sure you wish you had…" And it was only after he had his last comments on the subject that he turned his focus inwards and the mantras Lemuel taught him started in his mind.

Rhuadhán might have thought he was out of hearing range, but an elf's hearing is quite a bit better than a human's.

Dalamar sighed and shook his head, then went to join the wolves in wait for the results of his Shalafi's attempt to pass this critical Test. Knowing him, he'd manage to pass this. But because he knew Raistlin so well, the dark elf was fairly certain that, despite all their preparations, his Shalafi would still find a way to end up in a dramatic situation in the process. Because he was a veritable magnet for trouble, yet somehow always came out on top because his skills were what they were and Luck or Fate seemed to always favor him.

And Dalamar was counting on that impossibly sly bastard surviving all this because, powerful as he had become through his own studies, there were still areas of magic he hadn't been able to master, some he couldn't even begin to touch. It had come to his attention just how much he had still to learn. And Raistlin was the only teacher remaining above him; outside the Gods themselves. If his Shalafi went and got himself killed now, as he currently was, the chance to receive such tutelage would be lost for who knew how long until the next time the Master of Magic was allowed to reincarnate. The dark elf would rip his hair out with frustration if that came to pass.

The Master of Time needed to survive, and become whole again; and then he owed his faithful apprentice some lessons for all the bullshit he had put up with while babysitting him in such states.

At least there weren't any liches to worry about for this particular Test, so that was something to be grateful for.


	2. Chapter 2 Majikahla

Chapter 2

Majikahla

52 kilometers stood between Rhuadhán and his goal of proving he was the most worthy Champion of the Gods and deserving of the rewards promised for his services. Under normal circumstances, he could make that distance in about seven hours if he paced himself at a decent jog, slowed down every hour or so for about five minutes to catch his breath, and had a short break somewhere in the middle to keep his muscles from getting too tired. He'd be hungry as a lion, drinking water like a fish, and wanting to crash after refueling, but he had consistently made that distance in about that timeframe during his training this summer and autumn.

But these were not normal circumstances by any stretch of the imagination. Even with buckling down for his rigorous training in Mongolia, he was well aware Kangri Rinpoche was a whole other animal. Between everything they knew, and factoring in margins for worst case scenarios in delays, he was bound to need almost all of that extra six hours for getting past certain parts of the path safely and/or in the ways this ritual journey demanded.

Where they had entered the Kailash passes was the highest point along the sacred khora route, usually the midway point that pilgrims sought to reach. Because of the purposes that brought him here, it needed to be where he started and ended his circuit of the path. Which incidentally made it a boon at the beginning of his travels because that meant he started off with a path traveling down and would have the moonlight for getting out of the Dolma-La Pass; and he would be passing around the major checkpoints at the usual starting spot of Darchen village and the choke point at Sarshung village's bridge in the dead of night when the authorities at both locations were mostly sleeping and those awake weren't expecting anyone.

On the flip side, it created certain challenges in that he had to make the toughest section of the climb at the end and in a more tired state; and that section included needing to pass through Shiva-Tsal in the pre-dawn hours and increased his chances of running into spirits over there. While potentially problematic, it was less daunting for him than it would be other supplicants. If the wrong sorts of spirits showed up while he was making the required offerings and meditations, and he found himself in more trouble than he could handle, Shiva-Tsal was thankfully close enough to the Drölma summit that he'd be able to outrun them long enough to reach reinforcements. While tapping into his power over Time would expend more energy than he wanted to before needing to make his ascent, doing so for a limited burst on himself wouldn't be nearly as taxing as trying to use other magics to fend off spirits on his own.

Thankfully, altitude sickness wasn't a concern for him like it was for most westerners. He had spent the last three years living in different parts of similarly elevated Mongolia and had long since acclimated to processing the lower oxygen levels in the air. There were, however, other environmental conditions to deal with. The terrain being among the worst of them. Though winter hadn't properly arrived yet, Rhuadhán had to leave behind the moderate shelter of rock formations at the Drölma summit and stepped into the more open expanses of the eastern side of the Dolma-La Pass.

Chill winds came in from the Northeast and the slopes that loomed up either side tunneled them through the pass, preserving some inches of snow from an earlier storm and kicking up little flurries of loose snow with each gust. Between those flurries and the rising misty fog coming up from the ground as the temperatures began dropping with the sun having set, visibility under the light of the full moon was far from optimal.

The scattering of pilgrims who had been through since that storm had blessedly packed down small paths of snow before his travels through here. That cover of snow helped blunt some of the impact of rocks against his feet and acted as a soft mortar to keep them from moving about so much, but he was having trouble spotting just where others had traveled and frequently enough found himself stepping on an unpacked section and up to the top of his ankle in snow. A targeted warming cantrip on his feet kept him from the normal risk of frostbite, but it was still uncomfortably cold. His natural body heat, the swifter pace he was keeping at and the namjar wrap kept the rest of his body passably warm for the time being, but he knew that the temperature would only keep decreasing the later it got. He wanted to be out of the northern heights as quickly as possible.

Concentrated on picking out his path, sometimes hopping forward a foot or two to reach particularly packed areas he managed to spot, it took Rhuadhán some minutes to notice he was being stalked. It was a rock being dislodged from higher up the slopes and quietly tumbling down behind him that ended up giving the creature away. Rhuadhán made sure he had stable footing and then glanced over his shoulder to see what was following him.

A wolf was some distance behind, and couldn't quite dart behind a rock fast enough to avoid being spotted. It was a Tibetan wolf, tawny and more compact than its European or Chinese cousins.

Rhuadhán couldn't help but smirk when he noticed the distinctive large patch of white on its left hind quarter just before it disappeared out of sight. "Ohhh, Altankhüü..." he called out in teasing warning to the dark shaman's companion, speaking Mongolian. "Bilguun is going to have your hide for giving yourself away so early! I bet he's cursing you fiercely, back where he's stuck sitting!"

Altankhüü couldn't understand the words being said, but the wolf could tell from hearing his name that he was busted; and his master watching and listening through him would realize it. The wolf stepped out from behind the small boulder and gave a guilty sniff and bow of its head.

Rhuadhán called over, "Bilguun, I don't know if you're tailing me to make sure I don't find a shortcut or skip over something, or out of worry for my safety, but it will be difficult for Altankhüü to keep up and stay safe. Call him back to you. I'm not going to put myself through this only to ruin the effort by cheating, and I can defend myself. I don't need Altankhüü to interfere if something pops up and get me disqualified for having help."

The wolf shifted between paws as it waited for some sort of impulse sent by its master to indicate what it should be doing now. Whyever Bilguun had sent his companion to shadow his progress, he apparently decided to rescind that decision. Altankhüü gave a wolfy grin at the young man, then turned around and trotted back happily in the direction where his master was camped out with the others.

Rhuadhán shook his head, still smirking, and then turned his attention back to where he was going.

Just a few short kilometers into his journey, the first of the real challenges for this trek began. Dolma-La Pass steadily opened up on one side as it started twisting towards the eastern side of the mountain, and the winds began blowing all the more furiously.

Rhuadhán soon found himself reaching the top of a switchback decline down the mountain pass, which led towards Gauri Kund and the Aksobahya Valley beyond. This treacherous section of the Dolma-La Pass claimed multiple victims every year who made a wrong step and didn't catch themselves in time. The way down was dizzyingly steep; with a bit over 400 meters of a drop-off that was liable to give the unwary who looked over the sides of the path a terrible case of vertigo. The rocks here were larger and rounded from so many people treading on them and grinding against one another, creating slippery footing on the narrow, winding path clinging to the side of the mountain. The light snow cover here was a liability, as there wasn't enough to hold the bigger rocks in place and made for even slicker footing.

Rhuadhán's pace slowed by necessity when he reached the infamous descent. Unlike most people who reached this point, he was at least starting down fresh because it was so early in his route, and he didn't have to deal with altitude sickness causing potential dizziness or blurred vision. His bare feet, however, were becoming chilled despite his warming cantrips and, especially with the wind whipping about and holding the potential to push him off balance if not careful, he needed to watch how he stepped through the quagmire of rocks so he wouldn't lose his footing and potentially be too stiff in the ankles to recover properly.

The Champion stepped out onto the path with one foot and carefully shifted it between the rocks to get a stable footing on the ground beneath. Despite his mental mantra going to keep his mind directed from physical complaints, he became aware of the faint ache beginning on the sole of his foot from the few kilometers of impacts against snow and rocks. He was going to be limping by the end of this, he just knew it.

Rhuadhán pushed the thought out of his head and focused on the mantra all the more determinedly as he planted his foot, and then repeated the same careful step with the next foot. Step by step, staying as far from the edge as he could, he began his descent down the slope. And step by step, it seemed the wind itself was against his efforts, trying to catch in his clothes to push at him and spreading icy fingers across his flesh.

Words of the mantra became a quiet chant, reciting the words of Sihir that weren't quite a spell, but a meditative focus to order one's consciousness to transcend physical discomforts.

Rhuadhán was a third of the way down the path when it happened. He was rounding a corner on the switchback, foot lifted to take the next step, and a vicious gust of wind hit him at the same moment. Despite how well planted his rear foot was, the gust disrupted his balance, sending him tilting to one side. He tried to bring his foot back to where it had been so he could regain his footing and then crouch down protectively against this burst of wind, only to find rocks had already started shifting down to the opening he had left behind.

Foot met stone, and the rounded fiend rolled beneath foot. His balance tipped further, trying to keep upright, and another vicious gust of wind, one with a barely noticeable but distinct trace of magic laced through it, hit him again.

As Rhuadhán felt his planted foot begin to lose its stability despite his attempts at recalibrating his balance, he realized the danger he was in. The mantra ceased to call up different words as the drop off edge of the path entered the corner of his vision.

"_Cojuravreg Fasham_!"

A heavy walking stick appeared in hand and was planted into the mass of rocks before him, driving it against the ground and using it to stabilize himself. Breaths, accelerated by the fleeting burst of fear-induced adrenaline, came out in misty puffs in the cold air in front of him as he found his footing again. He concentrated on his breathing, slowing it back down and quietly reassuring himself all was fine as he clung to the sturdy staff he had conjured.

Rhuadhán gave a heavy sigh. "Someone isn't chuffed I'm here... Can't imagine why..." He gave a shaky laugh as sapphire gaze went to the stick that just saved his life. "Well, so much for not using magic unless necessary to avoid detection 'til I'm knocking on the door... Fuck me…" He held back another laugh, giving a shake of his head as he glanced up. "Well, give me your worst, you right prick."

The one who sent the wind took that challenge. Rhuadhán found himself buffeted by increasing bouts of wind. He grit his teeth and forced his way forward between the gusts, making sure he remained stable on the walking stick and a foot at all times.

When he reached the bottom and its scrubby landscape near thirty minutes later, he couldn't suppress the defiant grin as he glanced up the steep path he had navigated. He tilted his staff up towards the mountain's summit and said, "Nice try, but you lost that round. You're not stopping me from coming up there with anything short of blowing up the whole damn mountain, and we both know you can't."

The young Champion turned his back on the slope and began walking towards the circular lake not far ahead. The edge of the water was ringed by a foot or so of ice as encroaching winter began to freeze it over, and beneath the light of the moon it almost looked like a pupil-less emerald eye. An eye that glowed beneath the full moon with its latent magic.

Gauri Kund, or as it was known to the Vajrayana, Tukje Chenpo- the Lake of Compassion. It was said a goddess used to bathe herself here, and it was blessed with purification and healing powers as a result. If one could stand the freezing temperature of it, pilgrims who bathed in it after having made the long trek around the mountain felt as though they had been blessed with renewed stamina so they could finish reaching their starting point of Darchen in a refreshed state. Overnight camping wasn't permitted here, and it was too late for one of the guided hiking groups to be brought through, so there wasn't another soul in sight.

Rhuadhán came to the edge of the lake and knelt down before it, dismissing the walking stick he had conjured for the time being. One of the pouches from his belt was unbound and from within he pulled a ten centimeters long, five centimeters wide vial made of ivory. Pale fingers reached forward and came to rest against the ice, long digits fanned out as far as they could spread, and he said, "_Esacair_." The ice around his fingers obeyed the quiet command of the cantrip, melting and forming a hole to the water beneath. The vial was swiftly dipped within and came out with a shiver of his hand, but filled to the brim with the sacred water. He capped the vial, put it back in the pouch, and then tied it securely to the belt.

That done, Rhuadhán heaved a sigh as he stood and tugged free his belt as a whole. "Bloody closet sadist to put this lake up here and not even make it a hot spring..." After mumbling that complaint, he started back up the mental mantra to focus his attention inwards and began stripping out of his clothes. He tossed them in a pile, not wanting to spend more time than was necessary exposed to the elements by folding them up, and placed a few of the nearby rocks on top to keep the wind from blowing them away.

Bare as he came into the world, he gritted his teeth and started the walk into the enchanted lake without the benefit of warming cantrips to aid him. The sheet of ice broke beneath his feet and near-freezing water was almost immediately up to his shins. He trudged on, moving past the ring of ice and into deeper water. Mental mantra continued, but it was barely helping distract from the painful prickly sensation as the cold seeped into his flesh. Step by step, he forced himself further in because he could also feel the subtle rejuvenating magic of the lake seeping in and he knew he needed that aid to make it through the latter parts of this torturous trek without crippling himself for the effort.

When the water was mid-thigh and precariously close to sensitive dangly bits, Rhuadhán decided he was deep enough and to just get this done as quickly as possible. He gritted his teeth all the harder and then let his shaking legs go limp, dropping himself to let his rear hit the bottom of the lake and sinking himself to his neck. The shock of frigid water enveloping him caused muscles to spasm so fiercely it felt like he had a full body muscle cramp, but he forced his head under the water before the cold could really seep in and drop his body temperature any further. He stayed submerged long enough to ensure he could feel the magic tingling against every inch of him from scalp to toe, then popped his head back up to the surface with a gasp for much needed air.

As he got his legs back under him and stood, a bracing wind hit his soaked body. There weren't enough mental mantras in the universe to ease that sort of freeze and he griped through chattering teeth, "Holy Mother of All Shrinkage, Batman! Now you're just taking the Mickey out of me! That was entirely unnecessary!"

Giggles, ethereal giggles that echoed and vibrated with a supernatural melody to them, came from behind the Champion.

Rhuadhán stiffened immediately with the realization he suddenly had company, now sensing wisps of magic approaching from behind without even needing to extend the effort. The ambient magic of the lake had masked theirs while he was submerged in it, but they had strong enough auras that it was now reaching him. His sapphire gaze glared up at the sky as he thought, in what was knowing futility, 'Please don't be the Dancing Dakinis. Please don't be the Dakinis. Don't be the Dakinis...'

"I told you I sensed his energy on the wind," a beguiling voice, one he recognized, said to one of her companions in Sihir. "And who but Majikahla would dare utter profanities in this of all places?"

'Bollocks. Definitely the Dakinis...' The young Champion groaned in more than one kind of misery as he summoned every bit of self-discipline he had and forced his eyes to close; knowing full well looking at the immortal beings was risking temptations he could little afford to indulge flirting with right now.

The Dakinis were quasi-goddesses of wisdom and pure energy that took the form of women of entrapping beauty, having been created to satisfy a certain being's desire for companionship. When they weren't catering to his needs and he sent them away to have time to himself, they were allowed to roam about in search of worthy human companions because they became restless and despondent if they weren't fulfilling their narrow purpose for being. Their existence contributed to all manner of myths across the world, perpetuated by mortals who didn't know what to make of them and depending on their interactions with the Dakinis- from fae to succubi, lamia to sirens, mermaids to nymphs.

If a man the Dakinis had their eyes on was accommodating of their desires, he'd find himself in for one exceptionally wild night of carnal pleasures; and depending on whether or not he knew tantric arts he might either end up with his life force accidentally drained from the experience by the exuberance of the Dakinis, or finding himself quite energized by redirecting their innate magics to feed back to him part of their life forces. If the man was not interested in taking that risk, or knew he was incapable of proper energy work to survive it- if he was exceptionally charming in refusal and offering other forms of entertainment for the Dakinis, they might find it endearing enough to grant bits of wisdom or advice in exchange for being temporarily distracted from their carnal urges with the mental stimuli. For the men who weren't so careful in their refusals or otherwise offended or bored the Dakinis, they found themselves risking the immortals' wrath for being scorned and their purposes utterly denied any satisfaction.

"I'm not so sure that is Majikahla," one of the Dakinis said contemplatively. "He's never been a redhead before..."

"Oh, it's him." the first voice said. "Sense out what's beneath his current form..."

"Parvati is correct that it is me, Shakti," Rhuadhán called back in Sihir with levity forced into his voice. "Am I to understand you don't like the crimson hair?"

"Oh, now I didn't say that..." Shakti said immediately.

"Majikahla..." Lalita called over teasingly. "You look cold out there. Your skin is all bumpy like a bird with its feathers plucked..."

"That tends to happen when one is in a lake so high above sea level this close to winter..." the young Champion called back wryly, then cast drying cantrips on his upper body to help stave off some of the cold leaching in. "The waters are as refreshing as rumored, though, so at least it wasn't for nothing."

"Come to shore, Majikahla..." Parvati's voice chimed in sweetly. "We can get you warm in no time, and put that stamina to such pleasurable use in the process..."

"Oh, I know you ladies could..." The words in English came out as a quiet suffering groan as he reminded himself just why he was in this lake to begin with. He started backing up towards the shore because he did have need of fetching his clothes as swiftly as possible. Loud enough to be properly heard, he said in Sihir, "As I heard stories, you ladies are normally having a party down on the southern section of The Gold and Red Cliffs when you're here. Did you come up this way just to see me?"

"How could we not?" Lalita asked, tone sulking. "It's been so long since you summoned one of us, we were beginning to think perhaps we did something to make you stop enjoying our company..."

"Believe when I say," he said to be placating, as she was the most tempestuous of the three to have him cornered in such a vulnerable state, "blessed lady of so very many intriguing talents, that there's not a thing you could do to make me cease appreciating your company. My memory is like shadows on many details because I've only recently returned to physical form, but I know my last body gave out under the strain of a spell I tried to cast and then I was sleeping for quite some time to recover."

"Oh no..." Lalita said in commiserating fashion. "So that's where you went off to..."

"Yes," Rhuadhán said, mind weighing out the proper exit strategy from this situation. The water was at his knees now, and he could roughly guess from the directions their voices were continuing to come from that they had congregated just a little off to the left of where his clothes should be. "I was certainly not avoiding you. You three were among the first memories I have found surfacing, much to my delight. I have been busy retraining my body to handle my magic and refreshing my memories on arcane knowledge, but summoning you three was high on my list once I uncovered the spell and had the capability to perform to your expectations..."

Lalita giggled in delight. "I'm honored we made such deep impressions..."

"Majikahla," Shakti's voice echoed out skeptically. "Why won't you turn around to look where you're going? Are you not wishing to look upon us?"

"That's not the reason..." Rhuadhán said teasingly.

"Are you playing a game with us?" Parvati asked, sounding mildly excited.

"I might be..."

"What's the game?" Lalita asked, voice hopeful for some fun.

"Shakti seemed so surprised by my hair color alone," the Champion drawled out, water to his shins, "that I'm wondering if you can guess what else has changed and how. Turning around would ruin the surprise."

"Are you worried we might not like this incarnation's changes?" Shakti asked, sounding apologetic now.

"No," Rhuadhán said, continuing his blind wading backwards and waiting to feel the shelf against the back of his legs. "You benevolent ladies love variety too much to be displeased."

"Hm…" Shakti's voice rumbled with pleasure to that smooth reassurance. "If your hair is changed, your eyes must have as well to match."

"Yes, they have. How?"

"Are they green?" Parvati asked, sounding hopeful as she adored that color.

"That is common with red hair, but no."

"Blue?"

"Very good, Lalita," Rhuadhán said with a teasing purr to his voice. "You've always been so clever at puzzling things out. What shade of blue? There's so many." He felt the shelf brush against his legs as he was mid-step and came to a stop. A hand reached back casually, searching for his pile of clothing.

"As vibrant and dark as your hair is, I would guess your eyes are similar…" Lalita hummed out contemplatively.

"Mhm…" Rhuadhán murmured in agreement. Where the bloody hell was his clothes? His hand reached further back, feeling along the ground, wondering if he might not have made so straight of a line back as he thought and he was miscalculating their location. He hadn't really broken through new ice, though, so he should be about where he started. "Keep going, what shade specifically?"

"Are they the color of the late night sky?" Shakti asked.

"Not quite so dark," Rhuadhán said. "Try again." His hand came into contact with something that wasn't the ground, but it also wasn't his clothing. It was a bare foot, slim and just noticeably longer than a human's, with a beaded anklet around the ankle.

Parvati's beguiling voice came from behind him as his hand left her foot, not far from his head, indicating she was crouching down. "Are they the color of the ocean as a storm rises up?" Soft, wonderfully warm hands slid over the young Champion's chilled shoulders; and in their wake flowed traces of magic that almost set his nerve-endings aflame with sparks of desire.

'Magic in such states feels so very, very delicious…' Rhuadhán's eyes squeezed tighter as he took a few careful breaths to make sure he had a grip on his self-control, feeling the familiar craving for more rising up and reminding himself it was too dangerous to indulge when he was on a time-limit. It took every bit of self-discipline he had to unclench his teeth and say levelly, "No, Parvati, as that would indicate hints of grey as well…"

"What are you looking for?" Parvati asked, tone teasing, laced with a hint of already knowing. Her hands were moving forward to trace over his chest.

"I was trying to locate my clothing so that I may warm myself," Rhuadhán admitted, his attempt at a placid tone straining as he was feeling certain other stirrings for the first time in almost three years. Human women might not have been up to the task, but immortals apparently were. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to hand them to me?" He could feel the press of bare full breasts against the back of his shoulders as the Dakini leaned further in. Mental images of those rosy breasts, supplied by his scattered memories of the most recent lifetime before this one, sprung to his thoughts.

"Why would I do that," Parvati asked, warm fingers finding his nipples and starting teasing circles on the cold-tightened and sensitive flesh, causing him to take a sharp breath in as arousing magic followed her ministrations, "when there's far more entertaining ways to help you warm up?"

Words of mantras to focus escaped him. Instead, Rhuadhán decided to fight such fire with a different fire, pulling up in his mind the haunting image of The Daughter of Magic, who he was hoping would prove vastly more satisfying than even these quasi-goddesses with their limited spectrum of magic. The distraction that little minx caused was most welcome at the moment, and it helped tune out some of what Parvati was kindling.

"There certainly are more entertaining ways…" He left off his search of his clothes to wrap his hands around the immortal's wrists and gently remove her hands from where they were. He brought one hand up and placed a soothing kiss to her wrist, letting the smallest tendrils of his own magic extend out to tease at hers. "However, as much as it pains me to say it, I did come here for a purpose tonight, and that purpose was not to get lost in tantric delights…"

"Mmm…" Parvati hummed in agreement. "You've come with Vajrayana robes and we find you soaked in the waters of Tukje Chenpo. You're obviously here to seek out the Master. Why would you want to do a thing like that, Majikahla?" Warm breath was on his neck now, sending shivers down his spine. "You two can't stand being in the other's presence. A far more enjoyable way to spend your evening would be with us…" A teasing nibble at his earlobe, then an alluring whisper, "I'm sure we could aid you with whatever needs you have…" Soft lips began tracing a path down his neck, leaving a heated flush for him to bask in.

Rhuadhán took more breaths to steady his focus, reminding himself, again, why he was subjecting himself to being here. And as his focus sharpened with concentrating on that purpose, the calculating part of his mind recognized that the Dakinis hadn't just so happened to notice his presence and leave their favored place to dance. He transferred the delicate right wrist to join the left one in his left hand, long fingers closing around both; for the moment pulling the Dakini away from her attentions on his neck and freeing his right hand if needed for spell casting. He tilted his head to trail soft kisses up the immortal's arm, letting traces of his magic continue to resonate against her skin at vibrations meant to entice.

The Champion's voice, however, held an edge of warning in it as he said, "You ladies have always been accommodating and charitable. Unfortunately, my current needs are not ones you can aid me with. I'm sure we can see about making up for lost time when I'm not preoccupied and unable to give you the attention you deserve. For now, you can hand me my clothing from wherever you've relocated them to, with I'm sure only the generous thought to keep them away from the lake and dry. That aid would speed me dealing with those distractions."

Parvati's forearms stiffened beneath his grip. After a few seconds the immortal gave a quiet warning of her own, one that she attempted to soften by wrapping it in a veneer of concern. "Majikahla, do you truly think you'll be allowed to gain an audience with our Master? And if you do, that He'll give you what you desire? Leave off this silly plan of yours and put your time to better use with us."

Contrary to her obvious aim, the Champion wasn't dissuaded. Rhuadhán's temper sparked at the assured dismissal and attempt at offering him a consolation prize. His eyes opened as he spun around with supernatural speed from where he stood, using his grip on her wrists to pull the quasi-goddess in closer. Her ethereal beauty was not the distraction it could have been with his anger incinerating the desire she had been trying to stoke; and he watched with a satisfaction, that was as icy as the lake he stood in, as she flinched in pain from her arms twisting and stared down at him in shock for the unexpected shift in the situation.

"Perhaps you forget who you speak to because I'm temporarily in a weakened state," Rhuadhán's voice was a lethal whisper slicing through the air between them; sapphire eyes narrowed and meeting her dark gaze unflinchingly. He could stare into the Dark God's void gaze and not be ensnared when his will was set to resisting it; this quasi-goddess ultimately only had as much power over him as he allowed. "I am _Majikahla_," he emphasized the name formed from Sihir; one that also served as the title declaring him to be Master of Time because of his successes in forging his unique brand of magic. "And only a fool forgets that Time flows along the course of Its own making. Those who repeatedly attempt to divert It from Its path to gain their own ends will always suffer the consequences when It corrects Itself. Even the Primordials know they run the risk of Time swallowing them up in Its stream if they agitate It too far. Who are you, or your Master, to deny the Master of Magic and Time what I seek when even the Primordials know better than to trifle with me? I may not have the power at the moment to deal with such insolence, but I have Time on my side and can return to deal with you later." He flung her hands away from him and ordered, "Now give me my clothes and be on your way, and do not bring yourself before my sight again unless I summon you. Otherwise, I swear to you, you will feel my wrath when you least expect it."

All three Dakinis stared at the Champion for several seconds, too thunderstruck to act at first. Then Shakti and Lalita faded away into the night as Parvati's head bowed in submission. "As you command, Majikahla. Please do not hold anger with us; we were not lying in expressing pleasure in seeing you alive again. But we must also obey our Master, and He requested we give a friendly test of your resolve."

"He succeeds only in testing my tolerance. Give me my clothes. Now. Then go join your sisters."

His clothing appeared before him, and in the space of time it took for him to glance them over, Parvati was gone from the area. Rhuadhán shook his head with frustration, and with faint relief that his status alone was enough of a weapon to wield in this instance. He pulled himself up out of the lake and checked to make sure the vial and other necessary items were where they should be. Only when he was assured the Dakinis hadn't nicked them, which would've necessitated hunting them down before they got too far and potentially wasted more time than he could make up, did he take the time to dry the rest of himself off.

As he tugged back on his clothes, Rhuadhán thought with brusque temper lingering, back to English because it allowed him a more colorful allowance of phrases, 'I swear, _She_ better be a mint fucking goddess to keep me invested in this arrangement over the course of our existences and make it worth the sacrifices I'm making now, and will be in the future, to do as requested. I might enjoy such narrowly operating constructs for what they are, but I'm not going to be pleased if I went quids in, only to end up bound to a bog-standard counterpart who is ultimately nothing more than a useful puppet of someone else's. I will deem the arrangement null and void on the grounds of intentional and malicious false advertisement, and then spend whatever remains of the rest of eternity devising and carrying out ways to make The Three wish they had never given me what turned out to be empty hopes.'

.

.

.

The next twelve kilometers of travel out from Gauri Kund went by without some new form of trouble arising. Rhuadhán jogged down the northern slopes of Aksobahya Valley, a more pleasant stretch of the journey with its lichen fields and sporadic dappling of what hardy wild flowers remained this late in the season. He saw a few wild yaks off to one side, clustered together for sleep. He had to wade through a few small rivers that meandered through the valley and were just a little too wide to jump across, but they were shallow this time of year, the deepest not even coming to his knees. And thanks to the rejuvenating properties of Gauri Kund, he was feeling rather spritely as he winded along the paths, to the point where he had to resist the urge to whistle a traveling tune.

Dzultripuk Monastery eventually came into view as he rounded a corner. A small complex of mud and stone buildings that were nearly a thousand years of age, some of which were crumbling and in disuse, and others that had been periodically restored throughout the centuries. All the windows were dark and the monastery was silent; clergy and overnighting pilgrims alike were deep asleep.

The ancient monastery was named for the site nearby it that the monks kept care of- Dzultripuk, the "Miracle Cave" when translated from Tibetan. This site was quite sacred to the Vajrayana, as it was for many years the place where their Champion, the poverty-sworn Milarepa, called home after an interesting incident connected with it.

Before his showdown with Naro Bönchung, (or, depending on who you asked, it was among the causes for that duel, or possibly an incident that took place after their showdown and peaceful resolution reached,) there was a fierce storm raging through the mountains and the sorcerers decided to take shelter from the elements. Unable to spot a proper place to bunker down, they agreed to work together to make one. Naro was to construct the sides of the cave, and Milarepa was to form the roof. Before Naro could even begin to form the walls, Milarepa had already transfigured a roof to form, and it stood strong above their heads without the support of walls. Naro was humiliated by the display of magical superiority in this endeavor, and grudgingly went about fashioning walls around the roof to finish sheltering them from the elements. Not done proving his prowess and the superiority of his faith's sorcery over Naro's brand of magic, Milarepa then altered Naro's work to blend more harmoniously with his roof and the surrounding mountainside.

Those who were skeptical of such a story and questioned the monks about it, they were pointed to potential proof. There was a handprint, and supposed headprint, within the formation of one wall and the roof, from where Milarepa worked his magic on the surrounding stone. And to one side, there was an odd column of stone, that did nothing for structurally supporting the roof of the cave, but was supposedly Milerepa's trusty walking stick turned to stone. The magician knew when he was reaching the end of his life and wanted to leave one of his few possessions behind for perpetuity. According to the monks, despite all his teacher's lessons and his devotion to them, and having reached his enlightened state, even the inspiring Milarepa hadn't been able to completely devoid himself of the desire to leave some physical marks on the world in a lasting fashion.

Rhuadhán's next task to succeed in his mission brought him creeping past the monastery to reach the ancient cave. The reason being, the cave, like so many things about the mountain, wasn't exactly what the Vajrayana thought it was.

"Dzultripuk" might mean "Miracle Cave" in Tibetan, but it was a play on words. Its true meaning was revealed if one could speak Sihir. Something Milarepa had learned to do; either when he initially learned some form of magic that he had murdered a man with, or when he was seeking atonement for his crimes and gained access to higher magics. That part was a bit lost to time, but that the ancient magician could speak Sihir was indisputable as it was how he had managed to perform such feats he was remembered for.

"Dzultripuk", as revealed to Rhuadhán by his retired monk of a best friend, was in truth a clever homophone for _"Suhl Tri Pahk_". Those three little words were a set of instructions on how to retrieve his walking stick, which was apparently some sort of magical staff, because he had a vision that there'd be a need for it in the distant future and someone else would be called on to wield it, so he needed to preserve it for such time. And a new Champion had indeed arrived, one who had puzzled out the instructions quickly enough when he had eventually been told the words.

"Suhl" was a cousin word to "Suh" in Sihir; instead of excluding the speaker from a collective, it singled out someone as being the same as the one speaking. "Tri" was simple enough, as it simply meant "write". "Pahk" was likewise an easy word to translate, being "promise". Together, the instructions were, "You who are like me, write (a/the) promise."

The tricky part had been puzzling out what "write (a/the) promise" had meant. Milarepa, not wanting to risk the wrong people gaining access to the staff, hadn't left behind further instructions. Was the would-be recipient supposed to make a promise for the usage of the staff that complied with Milarepa's teachings? If so, what specifically must be adhered to? And his teachings had been passed down orally, which meant some words could have changed over the centuries. Whatever protective enchantments he had placed on the pillar to hide the staff, they'd only react to the exact same words he had first spoken. Magie and Lemuel had spent many hours poring through texts while the Champion was out training, and the former had gone running research trips to various places trying to locate the oldest documentations of Milarepa's teachings, trying to discover what those words might be.

And then Rhuadhán realized they were looking at the puzzle in the wrong way. He didn't need to make a promise to Milarepa based on whatever teachings and words he had devised. The Champion of the Vajrayana might have studied different forms of magic, maybe even shifted who he dedicated himself to, but for him to be fluent enough in Sihir to come up with his little word play, he had to have been in that life or a former a servant to The Three. And that meant Milarepa would have known better for something so important. The monk-sorcerer would have relied on something that was Timeless to unlock his magic, something that couldn't be lost in translation or misused by entrusting it to others to pass down, something that only someone like him would know by their own similar circumstances.

Milarepa had meant _The Promise_. Something that favored magi such as themselves were bound to hear at some point from The Three's own mouths and may or may not pass along, in general terms, to apprentices and colleagues like themselves to explain why they had the powers they were gifted with.

"_Jasihir mahanda shirkit magi paristakar omu ledan itu_."

"Magic will always obey the magi possessing the will to control it."

The promise from The Three that, unlike other Gods, they would never abandon or rescind their gifts to their faithful; no matter what it may cost them to keep faith to their end of the bargain, they would always set the example of honoring that a compact made between two parties with magic was binding.

A promise from The Three that the Champion was banking on to ensure he made it to the top of Kangri Rinpoche if he could complete this ritual journey to gather what was needed, proving his worth along the way, and make it back in time to cast the spell to ascend the mountain. The Master of Kangri Rinpoche had established this magical rite long ago, and he couldn't stop it from being attempted by someone outside the monks if The Three were granting their blessings to the magic-user to do so.

'The so-called Master of Kangri Rinpoche is just going to have to deal with an unwanted visitor at dawn,' Rhuadhán thought with a smirk as he approached the knobby stone pillar. 'Come whatever tricks he might try to slow down my progress, in hopes of cheating me of what I'm owed.'

The young Champion kneeled before the stone pillar and unbound another little cloth pouch from his belt. From this one he pulled a shallow ivory bowl about 8 centimeters wide, a short writing stylus with an ivory handle and stiff pure white hairs from a horse's tail to form a slender brush, and a single razor blade of silver that was wrapped in a saffron oil soaked cloth. The bowl went before him, and the stylus was placed to the side of it.

Then the razor was used to slice open a shallow cut along his left forearm, the minor pain and small sacrifice of his own blood being the necessary medium in which to write the magical phrase out with. A price he was more than willing to pay to have the catalyst for the spell to be reversed and gain the next item he needed. The bowl was soon filled and he used the cloth to bind his arm and staunch the trickle of blood.

As Rhuadhán lifted the stylus in preparation of dipping it into his blood, his keenly trained hearing picked up a faint noise coming from a distance behind him.

A shuffling of something, heavy yet agile, moving against the sandy ground outside the cave.

Stylus lowered as Rhuadhán glanced over his shoulder to see what the cause of the noise was. Sapphire blue eyes widened with reactive alarm to the answer, and he instinctively froze all movement.

An impossibly large hooded viper was slithering its way from the direction of the monastery to the cave, easily over four meters long, and bearing scales in unnatural bands of bright red and copper.

'A trap and test,' the young Champion's mind instantly recognized as the serpent met his gaze and gave a threatening hiss. Spilling his own blood for the ink to write must have summoned a guardian for the staff.

Milarepa was by all accounts a man who, after making his penance, tried to be a man of peace and only took life when it was unavoidable. A test designed by him shouldn't be lethal, so this shouldn't be a test of how many bites he was willing to allow himself to be poisoned with as he tried to write… And spilling the blood of another creature was not allowed on the grounds of Kangri Rinpoche, so this wasn't a test of his ability to defend himself with martial or magical force. Nor did he think, with how skilled a sorcerer Milarepa was said to be, that a simple enchantment to speak with the magical snake and turn it away with words would work.

So this must be a test of Milarepa's guilt-fueled teachings, for keeping one's inner discipline despite whatever threats one was under. The serpent shouldn't be able to harm him if he could keep himself calm.

'Alright, no more room for fucking around. Time to get Zen focused and prove why I'm the one The Three tapped for Consort and aren't making me share my prize.' Though the thought was sarcastic, it was still absolutely serious; and he could only hope his hurried assessment was the correct one.

The Champion, who over nearly three years had managed to earn the respect of the tribe of hereditary followers of The Three that took their faith so very seriously and Magie had tossed him into no-holds-barred training with, turned his gaze from the magically summoned creature. He closed his eyes as he carefully shifted into a lotus sitting position, let his hands drop down to rest on his knees, and turned his attention inward.

Words to his favored of mantras that was taught to him not by Lemuel, but Ankhbaatar- one of the hunters he trained with, but could not abscond so far from his duties to join them- began to be intoned at a specific cadence to help him quiet his mind. "_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

There was another hiss from behind, sounding all the more menacing at the spellcaster.

Rhuadhán kept chanting the mantra, using it to pace his breathing, focusing on zoning out everything but the sound of his own voice and the rhythm of his breathing. A mantra that meant, "My body and mind are but shadows compared to the magic of my soul." The Mongolians didn't speak Sihir fluently, but long ago The Three had taught them isolated phrases to aid them, and they passed those down from mentor to apprentice. It was a mantra that hunters within the Mongolian tribe used to focus their minds when they were first learning the art of astral projection, or older hunters used when they needed the aid to perform that difficult task in a moment of stress.

The mantra was a concept especially appealing to the young Champion with aims such as his own. He concentrated on that reassuring mantra to drown out the noise of the hissing as it grew louder and the sound of a scaly belly undulating against dirt crept ever closer.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas,"_ Rhuadhán continued to chant over and over, not counting how many times he said the words, only concentrating on the words themselves.

His pulse steadily slowed as his voice pitched the words to reverberate out from him. Muscles relaxed as calmness took over with the affirmation of his ability to transcend such petty conditions that would make another balk.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

As the word in Sihir, a closely guarded secret by those who knew it, identified the purest essence of a soul- a soul was a creation formed of pure will and the highest form of love.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

And the young Champion knew no one in existence had a will that could match his. His currently diminished state from the strains of reincarnating didn't affect his will.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

He was the Master of Magic because of the initial blessings of The Three that his will had grown to levels that only his patrons could match; and he was the rightful Master of Time by his own skills and ingenuity that had crafted _his_ brand of magic that not a single entity in creation could manage replicating properly.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Nothing could truly threaten him unless he gave it the opportunity.

An insignificant snake, no matter how big it was, couldn't keep him from his aims.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

There was no danger for him to be concerned with, only his purpose for being here.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

He was the Master of Magic and Time, and he wasn't going to be scared off from getting what he came here for.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

When the snake's head brushed up against the young Champion's right thigh, he was too deeply focused on his chant to pay it any mind.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The weight of the snake's head increased as it started to slither up the side of his leg.

Still, the Champion continued his chant; until the vibrations of the mantra were all he could feel. The chant continued as the snake's head crossed onto his left leg and some of its great weight settled more fully on his lap.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Sapphire eyes opened as the chant continued. Not acknowledging the existence of the viper's head inches away, his right hand lifted from his knee in a languid motion and reached forward to take up the stylus.

The viper's head lifted as Rhuadhán dipped the tips of the bristles into his blood, hissing warningly as its head began to sway back and forth. Pearly white fangs that were as long as his thumb glistened in the massive maw of the serpent.

The champion continued his chant, gaze going from the bowl once he was sure the bristles were coated enough but not liable to drip, to the pillar in front of him where he needed to transcribe The Promise.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

As Rhuadhán's hand rose, the viper's head darted lightening quick towards it.

Had he faltered, hand pausing or jerking away from the pillar, those wickedly sharp fangs would have sunk into his flesh and delivered their venom.

But the Champion's hand stayed steady in its course, and horse-hair bristles began tracing the first letter of The Promise of The Three.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The viper continued to menace Rhuadhán as he went about his work- darting at his hand a few more times and then, when it became apparent that wouldn't shake him, shifting its weight and wrapping its powerful body around his torso. Coils tightened around the Champion's body, restricting his breathing. But Rhuadhán kept chanting, focused on writing out the second word, and then the third.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The hooded viper shifted tactics again as the first letter to the fourth word, "magi" was starting to be traced. It undulated around the magic-user, making room to rise its head further up.

Rhuadhán couldn't help but see the movement from the corner of his eye, he wasn't blind, but he kept focused on his task. A hint of his perpetual defiance slipping into the chant as the first letter took form and then the second. Brush dipped down towards the bowl and renewed its sanguine paint to finish writing the word.

The viper's head came level with his cheek, deadly fangs dripping with venom.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Bristles of the brush were just renewed with blood and starting the first letter of the fifth word when the snake lunged.

The "p" was a smooth slash down and looping of the sound's letter in Sihir calligraphy, and the young Champion's cheek remained unscathed.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The viper continued its menacing as he continued to write. When he was about to start the sixth word, the word for "will", the serpent's head moved directly in front of his face, blocking his sight.

Rhuadhán continued his chant, breathing perfectly even, staring the magical beast straight in the eyes. He was the wrong combatant to challenge to a battle of wills and patience. He was the Master of Magic and Time; this serpent was nothing more than a petty product of a lesser sorcerer's magic. It could hiss and feign lunges all it wanted, he wasn't going to flinch. He had been making excellent time in his journey so far and could wait out whatever measure of time Milarepa had designated for this part of his little test.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

And as the Champion calculated, the viper eventually left off menacing his face. As it shifted away, Rhuadhán dipped the stylus once more and began to write out "omu" with the faintest of smirks twitching at his lips as he continued chanting the mantra. He finished the word as the snake began loosening its coils around his torso. As he started writing out the next to last word, the viper slipped off his lap.

Instead of slithering away, however, it started to slither in front of him, between him and the bowl of blood.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Rhuadhán held back a sigh at this tedious proceeding, not wanting to interrupt the flow of his mantra, as he finished the letter he was currently on and then leaned back to wait for the bowl to be open.

Instead of settling in around the bowl, the viper's hooded head began rising up a few feet in front of him.

The young Champion realized about a second before it happened what the viper intended next to throw off his concentration.

His sapphire gaze stayed forward, staring at his nearly complete work, as the beast lunged for his crotch, the wide splayed hood all but eclipsing the peripheral view of his lap.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Rhuadhán kept chanting, trusting that his precious bits were safe from the fangs. And, thankfully, there was no sudden rending of his manhood and accompanying pain as the magical beast's head retreated.

The viper didn't make another lunge, instead beginning the process of slithering its intimidating length from out in front of him.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The Champion's stylus was back at work, tracing out the rest of the word.

He was just about to dip the bristles back in the blood paint for the last word when the viper decided to act like a sulking little bitch about failing to shake him. The last third of a meter of its tail flexed as it slipped past in front of him, hitting his bowl.

The bowl tipped over, spilling what little remained of his blood on the ground. The moment the blood touched dirt, it was tainted for that contact and not fit to be used as ink.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Rhuadhán's chanting took on a hint of annoyance, but his breathing and pulse stayed level. He only had one small word and the period left. He could unbind his arm and agitate the cut enough to get fresh blood for that.

His left hand went out and calmly turned the bowl back upright as the right hand set the stylus safely down between the folds of his legs. Serpentine eyes watched his movements, tongue flickering out, waiting for a sign he might be losing control of his patience.

The Champion wasn't about to give it the satisfaction. He slowly unbound the cloth from his arm and leaned over to the bowl. Deft fingers wiped away traces of dirt from the bowl; then pulled at either side of the cut, breaking the crust of the congealed and dried blood that had formed, and forcing new blood to drip into the bowl.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

Just as he was reaching for the stylus, the serpent's tail gave another flick, dumping out the new bowl of blood.

Rhuadhán, knowing the story of Milarepa being forced to tear down his own towers, was not that surprised by the snake's actions.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The young Champion decided to forego the bowl. He unwrapped his arm again, pressed at the cut to get a small well of blood rising up, and then dipped the stylus in ink direct from the source.

The viper hissed at that, but he remained unmolested as he went about writing the last three letters in such fashion.

"_Mayat e omra mas astandas ohn sihir omudais mas._"

The moment after Rhuadhán pressed the stylus to the pillar to make the period and magic began to ignite across the first letter to sear the words into the stone, the viper convulsed as though in pain. Ruadhán calmly stood from where he sat, not wanting to be subject to a wild bite as the unnatural animal's sole purpose of existence came to an end. As the magic ran across the lettering, fire began to consume the summoned beast, starting at the tail and working its way up to the head.

An icy smirk crept on the Champion's lips then, chanting finally coming to a close. "Nice game, mate," he said passively, "but when it comes to competitions of patience and wits, no one outplays the Master of Time."

The viper opened its mouth, either to hiss or bite, but bright flames erupted from between its jaws. Within seconds, there was nothing left but a trail of ash on the floor, magical flame extinguishing itself with the target incinerated.

And as the magic on the pillar simultaneously finished searing the words into the stone and then extinguished, cracks began to spiderweb out.

Not sure what to expect for the staff's release, Rhuadhán quickly scooped up his bowl from the ground and cast cleaning cantrips to remove both his blood and the snake's ashes from the cave floor. He didn't need to leave behind more evidence of something happening than was unavoidable.

Instead of doing something like shattering and exploding pieces out, however, the stone crumbled and fell to the floor as dust, revealing its prize.

The Staff of Milarepa stood upright, balancing on its own. It was roughly two meters tall and, despite the near millennium it had spent encased in stone, had such a fresh polish to it that it seemed newly made. The wood was the distinctive warm red with paler whirls of golden-red of the Amla tree, which was sacred to the Vajrayana in many respects. And in keeping with Milarepa's modest lifestyle, the staff was unadorned by stones or gilding; its only markings the intricate carvings spinning up the length of Aruna fruit and Myrobalan sprigs.

Relatively plain as it might be to look on, Rhuadhán could feel magic start tingling against his skin as soon as the staff was unveiled. Supplies were tucked into his pouch without further ado and smirk turned to a pleased smile as he reached forward and claimed the prize for his patience. The magic pulsed passively beneath wood that was unnaturally warm for having been encased in cold stone, teasing at his awareness and sparking his curiosity.

"Oh, I'm most definitely keeping you after this is done," the Champion told the artifact assuredly. "Apparently old Milarepa did have some power to him. It's going to be fun puzzling out what enchantments you're hiding, beyond the one I need for tonight, when I'm not needing to so carefully measure out how much magic I'm expending." He gave it a spin with agile fingers to test the balance, and found both ends equally weighted and creating smooth arcs with so little drag that it almost seemed the staff wanted to keep the momentum going.

Rhuadhán's smile became a boyish grin then, and he said with laughter in his voice, "We're going to be fast friends, aren't we? Don't worry, love, I can do things with you old Milarepa was far too repressed to admit he wanted to do." He set the staff back upright before he could get too caught up playing with it, but said with humor remaining, "But for now, I have a date at dawn with the prat responsible for you being neglected in such ways, so I'm going to have to ask you to be a good girl and wait your turn. I promise I'll make it worth your while. Deal?"

The staff didn't indicate problems with his plan by jumping back where he took it from or giving an unpleasant jolt of some kind of magic. The Master of Magic gave the artifact another appreciative glance, then took off out of the cave at a jog, tucking the staff along his side.

He made sure to watch his breathing and the pace he set because- besides potential trouble from any guards up in the middle of the night spotting him, hungry wild animals crossing his path, or trying to dodge notice of any stray spirits that might not be so pleasant as the Dakinis- he had about 16 kilometers ahead of him before he reached Tarboche. That ceremonial site, with a near 30meter pole that pilgrims festooned with prayer flags, marked the beginning of the next stretch of mountain to be concerned with: the upwards, increasingly rocky, path that would eventually lead him up towards the Shiva-Tsal and was home to the last thing he needed to retrieve before dawn.

He was making damn good time from what he could estimate of the stars' and moon's positions, even with his progress slowed by the wind on the Dolma descent, the dakinis' little stunt at Gauri Kund, and having to play waiting games with the viper. He had left Magie and the wolves a few minutes after six in the evening, and it was looking to be about three hours' worth of movement above. At this current rate of actual progress versus expectations to reach different checkpoints and get through known delays, he could potentially make it back to Magie with a solid two and a half to three hours to spare and have a chance to rest a little before casting the spell to ascend the mountain.

There was no need to go pushing his luck by racing off in a hurry and risk injuring himself or unduly wearing himself out before having to make the hike through the Valley of the Dead. This was one of the most scenic parts of the route, with the gentlest weather and lower winds, so he might as well keep a proper eye out for trouble and enjoy the squishy lichen ground while he had it.

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A/N: InDargonWeTrust doesn't leave public reviews anymore, but he mentioned something in PM that was worth me repeating the answer to here. Both prophecies at the beginning of last chapter are historical. I didn't make up the figure of Aradia or her prophecy of the Age of the Daughter; it's just a much lesser known bit of legends that's only found in a few books (that I'm aware of). I've altered the recorded wordings of both prophecies to fit this story, but like many mythical elements I'm pulling in for this series, it has roots from somewhere else. All those many threads from around the world will hopefully weave together to make an entertaining tapestry of a story worthy of Dragonlance.

Deku, as always, thank you for for the feedback and thoughts. I'm glad you've stuck around so long and hope you find this chapter and the next entertaining.


	3. Chapter 3 Watch The Teeth

Chapter 3

Watch The Teeth

Rhuadhán managed to make it through the rest of the gentle slopes of Aksobahya Valley without encountering any delays; comfortably keeping a bit faster jogging pace than expected with the downward momentum of the path and softer ground to ease his journey. He passed by a few spots where pilgrims were camping out for the night; people who had obviously thought they could push through past Dzultripuk Monastery to reach Darchen before nightfall and had over-estimated their capabilities. They were fast asleep in their all-weather tents and trying to recuperate their stamina for the last leg of their hike. He was able to jog parallel to their encampments with the silence of a shadow cast by a cloud shifting by; not even their domesticated yaks brought for carrying their gear noticed his passing to make noises that could alert the trekkers to the fact they weren't alone. When he passed by a small tributary stream of one of the rivers that looked particularly undisturbed, he used a lesser conjuring cantrip to make himself a cup, collected some water, cast a cleansing cantrip to not give himself some internal parasite, and enjoyed a well-earned five minute break to rehydrate himself.

Then the young Champion was off again for the next stretch of his jog.

He came up around the Southeastern side of the mountain by following the path that led down through the Gold and Red Cliffs. The ground here shifted back to dirt and tiny pebbles, and he slowed his travel to his normal jogging speed to not abuse his feet more than necessary. When he passed Kandrö Tora, the Dakinis' normal haunt, they were nowhere to be seen. They had probably decided it best to stay out of sight for the rest of the evening somewhere on the summit of the mountain. Where the pass ran alongside a large river, there was a small site established for pilgrims to hang prayer flags. There were so many of them this late into the year that they created a low-hanging pseudo-canopy above the narrow footpath for a short distance. The fluttering bits of cloth cast darker shadows on the ground and rock slope; the latter of which had unnatural pits in places from some pilgrims defiling it by carving out pieces to bring home a "sacred rock" with them as a souvenir or in hopes of using it as some sort of luck talisman.

The path through the cliffs eventually led out to a sprawling countryside, the start of the Barkha Plain. Which meant he was about three kilometers from Darchen village. By the time he skirted the village, got back up on the path proper, and made it to Tarboche, it'd probably be half past eleven. The soft ground being back under his feet, and knowing it would last for most of the southern leg of the journey, was appreciated. Even with the conditioning they had put his feet through to toughen them up and having taken the dip in Gauri Kund, his feet were starting to get tender again from the rocky stretches he had been over. By the time he reached the western passes, he'd probably have blisters starting. Climbing those passes back up around the mountain was going to be miserable; but he had gone into this knowing what waited on that front, so he'd grit his teeth and deal with it. He was maintaining a solid two and a half hour margin for arrival ahead of dawn and wasn't going to concede any minute of that without good reason.

As Rhuadhán continued his jog along the southern face of the mountain, he noticed large clouds blowing in from the Plains. They were making a lazy but direct path towards Kangri Rinpoche and beginning to block out some of the starlight. With the moon nearing the end of its time in the sky, darker shadows began to noticeably encroach in on the valley. A scan of those cloud formations told him they were storm clouds. It might only be early October, but in a place so high in altitude, that storm could bring anything from rain, sleet, snow, or hail, depending on just how the temperatures shifted by the time the front rolled in.

The Champion sighed with annoyance, having no illusions as to the chances of that incoming front not bringing him complications by the time he reached the western pass, if not sooner. Fortunately for him, he wasn't other men who had tried to scale the side of the mountain with climbing equipment to reach the summit, so the worst this storm would do is pelt him with precipitation of some kind and make footing along the trail more difficult. If it didn't blow itself out by the time he reached the top and was ready to make his ascent up the mountain, Magie had a powerful weather spell prepared that would clear the sky for a distance above them and last long enough to let the first rays of sunlight through to make sure he could cast his own spell.

"You are such a damned nit," Rhuadhán muttered as he picked up his pace, hoping to make it to at least Tarboche before the storm hit, and the cluster of buildings that made up Darchen came into view up ahead, about a kilometer away. "Alright, you smarmy bastard, have it your way. Blow me with all you got, but I'm not finishing until I get up there and have the pleasure of watching you have to grit your teeth and take it. Unless you want me to skip the foreplay when I do, you better refrain from using teeth." That warning given, he went back to his mental mantra to keep his thoughts where they needed to be.

By the time Rhuadhán reached the modest, low-sitting stone wall that marked the borders of Darchen village, winds were kicking up speed in warning to the incoming storm. He made sure to give the village a wide berth and stay in the what little cover the Plains were offering, speed slowing and keeping low with a wary eye out for any patrols that might be moving about or stray predatory animals that might push him closer towards the village if they could creep up on him and force him into a position of playing a lethal game of Keep-Away. The last thing he needed was to be mauled to death or caught trying to sneak about without visas and permits, especially in possession of Milarepa's Staff that was supposed to either be a legend or buried in stone. If he wasn't shot on sight for trespassing in the middle of the night, the PSB officials would go check out the sacred cave and find the pillar destroyed, and then Magie would need to devise a way to whisk him out of whatever gulag or cell the Chinese tossed him in for such crimes.

Despite the pragmatic worries of dangers for this stretch of the journey, no packs of wild dogs or prowling snow leopards showed up. There ended up only being a small group of people a distance off, still up and sounding like they were celebrating the completion of their hike that afternoon, and a pair of guards at the roadside station leading into the village. The trekkers were inebriated and not in any state to notice things beyond their group. The guards looked zoned out from being stuck on late night duty. One seemed to be reading something from how little he moved and his head being tilted down; and the other, who looked the same age or even a little younger than Rhuadhán, was playing a game on what was clearly some model of the Nintendo DS.

'At least someone is getting to relax this evening…' the Champion thought wryly once he was past the potential line of sight for the guards and starting to circle back around to eventually rejoin the hiking path. 'Kind of hope the higher ups don't blame them for the pillar when it's discovered; they don't look like such a bad pair of blokes.'

Rhuadhán managed to make it around Darchen and back onto the hiking trail before the storm clouds caught up to him. The winds blowing were as frigid as those on the northern pass had been and whipped at his robes and namjar wrap when he was about two kilometers out, where the path through Barkha Plains was just starting to angle up and narrow out to lead towards the Lha-Chu River. Another kilometer along the path, dirt road becoming more gravelly as it started to climb up towards the first ridge, the first heavy, wet bits of sleet were carried on the wind and began to pelt him from behind.

The young Champion paused to unfurl his namjar from how it was currently folded and draped around his shoulders and torso to wrap it securely around his body, going around his neck, crossing over his upper arms and then winding around his torso. His belt was tucked under the cloth in the process to protect the contents from being exposed to the elements, pulled securely against his body. As much as he'd like to drape a length over his head, he didn't want to risk obscuring his peripheral vision, but he did tuck his long tail of crimson hair beneath the neck fold to keep it from whipping about.

As Rhuadhán was resituating his namjar, he kept his mind occupied with calculating just how much further he had to go. 'Three or so kilometers to Tarboche, then two to Chuku Monastery. Sarshung is just barely beyond Chuku, and then it's six kilometers up Lha-Chu Valley until it turns into the western side of the Dolma-La pass. Once in those passes it's six more kilometers to Dirapuk Monastery, and from Dirapuk it's four kilometers through the Valley of the Dead to Shiva-Tsal. Magie and the wolves are less than two kilometers beyond, just beyond Drölma Rock. That's twenty-three kilometers left to go. Already near sixty percent of the way through the distance, only one last item to obtain, and I've got somewhere over seven hours out of the original thirteen left...'

The young Champion decided those were excellent odds in his favor. He cast a water repelling cantrip on the namjar to ensure his belt beneath would stay dry, then gave a joking knock on the wooden staff for luck as he thought in good humor, 'Barring pulling out some entirely unsporting catastrophe, which would get The Three breathing down his neck for such a stunt, this is going down as my playing a blinder for the records.'

Knowing full well a certain Master of Kangri Rinpoche was liable to hear it, the Master of Magic and Time said to the staff, "Alright, love. Now's the part where I've got to leg it up the long, uphill stretch and it's bound to get slippery. I know you're still shaking off the dust, but I would be grateful for you lending me your support if I need it. Don't let me down and you'll have the entertainment of seeing me remind that old prick that anything a monk can do, a magus can do better, and him twisting himself up into knots to make excuses."

Rhuadhán couldn't be entirely certain, but he thought he felt the faintest thrum of magic beneath his long fingers. A smirk formed and sapphire gaze turned to the path ahead as he quietly said the spell to allow him to see in the dark so he wouldn't be stumbling about to find his way in the storm. He took off at a jogging pace he'd be able to maintain long distance and concentrated on Lemuel's mantra to help zone out some of the discomforts of what was going to be a mightily uncomfortable twenty-one kilometer hike up to Shiva-Tsal. Ankhbaatar's was prone to making him tunnel vision on his goal and he needed to keep his wits about him. Every kilometer closer to the Valley of the Dead was going to be a kilometer closer to success, and each increased the chances of running into some trick by his opponent aimed to steal the win out from under him.

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Rhuadhán's endurance training with the Mongolian tribe was put to the test as he hiked up the western side of the mountain. The storm slowly but steady increased its fury. Sky blackened entirely over with the clouds, stinging sleet whipped about from different angles. By the time he reached Tarboche and its 27 meter tall flagpole, visibility dropped to the point where, despite the spell to not need light to see around himself, he could only make out about three meters in front of him through the precipitation. His pace slowed to a swift walk for his own safety and to make sure he didn't lose the trail.

He passed by Chuku Monastery without even realizing it, unable to spot the small complex clinging to the cliff side and blending in with its rock wall made of the same stones of the mountain. He realized he had gone another two kilometers when he reached Sarshung village and could just barely make out a light in a building off to one side. He was far closer to said building, and the others of the village, than he wanted to be. Given the storm raging, however, he decided to alter his original plan of skirting the tiny village like he had Darchen and stick to the path he was on to bee-line for the bridge. The last thing he needed was to get himself turned about in the storm and lose time trying to find his way back on track. He was going to have enough of those concerns he couldn't so easily avoid if the storm followed him up to the northwestern corner of Dolma-La Pass and towards Drölma summit, as there were periodic side trails through slopes leading away from the pass that a hiker could get lost on if they weren't paying attention to where they were going.

Deciding on that new plan, Rhuadhan's magic shifted around him, altering the flow of Time for himself. The Master of Kangri Rinpoche was already aware of his presence and trying to contrive ways to slow him down; if spirits were going to show, they were going to show whether or not he used magic because their master would point them in his direction. He didn't need the potential problems with humans; while most people were abed, and visibility was next to nothing, staying on the path would mean going straight past whoever was stationed at the bridge.

The Master of Time made his way across the short length of Sarshung's only proper road at what would, to an outside party, seem like a running speed so impossibly fast that he was little more than a fleeting blur of movement. His speed of movement from his perspective was that he was at his comfortable jogging speed; it was only that Time was bending to carry him along a faster stream of reckoning itself than the pace the world around him was currently drifting along at. He could move and observe and react to what he saw around him as usual, but the things around him didn't have the same capability to interact with him. The icy sleet around him, for example, suddenly stopped actively pelting him; the droplets that existed in the path he was moving through were caught in the flux of Time differences, taking on a static quality of how they had been formed when coming into contact with his magic, and his movements past simply brushed them aside as whole droplets. Which had the lovely little side benefit of giving his chilled body a temporary reprieve from the soaking. Small or fleeting sounds from things that weren't caused by him got swallowed up if they didn't exist where he was moving to as they couldn't keep pace with him. Louder and persistent sounds that reverberated enough to continue to where he was moving to, like the unceasing wind and cacophony of the sleet coming down, became dulled and distorted, taking on a hollow echo as it filtered through the Time flux.

He kept his attention on the trail ahead to guide where he was going and not collide with things more substantial than precipitation that he'd not be able to brush past. Things might not be able to interact with him properly, but they didn't lose their mass, nor did he, and running face first into a building or tripping and hitting the ground would hurt the same as it normally would. He'd be past the bridge and checkpoint before the PSB officials could even notice him approaching; and even if they were looking exactly where he passed to see the moment between seconds where he passed the point, he'd be well out of sight before they could even do a double take to confirm they saw something. Their brain would come to some rational explanation like tired eyes playing a trick of movement with a shadow, or perhaps a fleeting peripheral glimpse of one of the rumored ghosts of the mountain.

And because he was who he was and knew his craft so well, Rhuadhán's altered plan worked exactly as expected. Neither guard in their station at the bridge even had a chance to look his way as he approached; and he was up, over and off the other side of the bridge before either of them could finish a blink. He kept up the Time magic until he had gone about a quarter of a kilometer past the bridge, up the path that curved towards the next ridge that would lead out towards Lha-Chu Valley, and was safely assured of being out of sight of the authorities by any possible means of viewing, slim as that risk was for them to be able to spot him in this weather.

Time settled back to its normal flow around him, and he gave a shake of his head as sleet went back to bombarding him. Using his Time magic to travel less than half a kilometer total wasn't terribly taxing, from his perspective it was only three minutes or so of magic channeling, but he could feel a tremor of magic fatigue creeping in from having done so. Pleasurable as things like getting Tantric could be, bodies were such pains in the arses to deal with at times.

The young Champion shook his head again, this time in response to the thought, and started hiking up towards the Lha-Chu pass. If things went right, such complaints would soon be nothing more than a memory. Once his powers were properly restored, he'd be claiming everything owed to him. He just needed to deal with the inferior parts of his existence a bit longer.

Leaning some of his weight on the staff to help him pick his way along the pebbly path, feeling pressure on blisters beginning to form with each step taken, Rhuadhán went back to concentrating on the mantra to help zone out such discomforts. He needed to get into a reasonably Zen state, because the difficulty of his trek was going to be steadily increasing from here on out.

The upcoming valley was apparently the polar opposite of its cousin Aksobahya on the eastern side, as different as the Dark God was from the God of Light. Where Aksobahya was somewhat sheltered and its many rivers and side streams provided some measure of lush undergrowth, Lha-Chu was a moraine of grey, prehistoric sedimentary rock that was left over from when the mountains had first been pushed up out of the ocean by the plates colliding. It had the river and some small tributaries running through it, but the way the winds and glaciers combined conditions on the west side of the mountain, no soil had been able to form and it remained a near desolate landscape of stone. He wasn't going to be able to see much of it when he got there, but, from what Lemuel had told him, he wasn't going to be missing out on anything interesting and he needed to concentrate on watching his footing on the uneven ground so he didn't twist an ankle or cut his feet up to ridiculous amounts on the edges of rock shelfs and gravel. That was going to be fun in this storm…

The young Champion grunted at the thought in annoyance, he needed to concentrate on his mantra and just deal with each obstacle as they came. He was still making decent time and staying well ahead of schedule, though with the sky blocked he didn't have an easy way to gauge just how well his progress was going and he had more important things to keep his mind focused on. He had been trouncing this stupid torture hike. He'd continue to do so, no matter what the terrain or the weather or whatever else he had to put up with for this last leg of his trek.

Despite the tempest being strong enough to give Rhuadhán's fleshy self full body shivers, he vaguely noticed the staff beneath his hand was remaining warm from its innate magic.

The Champion continued his mantra, steeling his resolve to be like the artifact; unyielding and unaffected by the storm raging and stony terrain beneath it, burning with an inner fire of magic that all the sleet in the sky couldn't snuff out, within a vessel that all the rocks in the world couldn't splinter.

Concentrated as he was on that mantra and complimentary visual and keeping to the path beneath his feet, Rhuadhán didn't notice when the magic inside him innately started shifting to accommodate his will. It slipped its way through his veins, spreading out into his body with a sensation lighter than the displacement of air from a butterfly's flapping, lending him just enough warmth at his core to keep potential hypothermia at bay and his stamina from flagging.

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Rhuadhán slogged through the next four kilometers of growing slushy muck, steadily pushing his way up the rocky moraine of Lha-Chu Valley. In some spots the footing was slippery, especially where there was gravel built up between rock shelfs or directly on the main pathway people walked and had been worn down smooth. He figured out within the first half a kilometer of catching himself from doing slip-and-slides that it was better for his progress in this weather to go off to the side a bit and walk up the middle of rock shelves as he could. Unlike a lot of the slicker igneous rock like granite that he was used to seeing, this grey-brown rock beneath his feet was a bit more porous and nubby. While aggravating to the aching soles of his feet, it at least provided traction in the sleet. He'd take some extra blisters to not break an ankle or take a tumble down the way he had come.

He had just hefted himself up a few feet onto a new rock shelf and starting across it when something prickled at his attention. Something that wasn't the stinging winds of the storm trying to impede his progress or the coarse rock beneath his feet.

It was a feeling in the back of his mind; one that had no discernable cause, but sent the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. An instinct that, with his connection to the force of Time and its flows, he knew to trust when it rang an alarm.

The young Champion's primal instinct was picking up that he was being stalked by something decidedly dangerous.

Rhuadhán's gaze darted quickly to the sides and ahead to see if he was walking into danger, but he couldn't make out anything moving somewhere within the storm. He turned around back to check that obviously vulnerable direction something might try to catch him from, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the sleet and squinting down and out into the storm.

And he saw that there was indeed something out there. Something was trailing him in the storm, blending with it. It was too solid looking to be a spirit; movements across the rock shelf below nimble like a ghost's might be, but sleet impacting against it instead of going through. Any sound of its passage was being masked by the howls of the wind and concussive patter of sleet against valley floor.

And then Rhuadhán got a better glimpse of it as the winds shifted a fraction; saw a flash of yellow-green eyes and the six meter-long line of its back with pale grey stripes lacing down its side.

A white tiger; something decidedly abnormal for these parts, and at least twice the size any tiger had any right to be. A massive white tiger that was closing in at eight meters out, and would have probably finished closing the distance and made a lunge when he reached the next rock shelf and was occupied with lifting himself up on it.

This Godzilla of tigers, seeing that it had been noticed, left off its stalking to dash at its prey. And those movements were far too swift for a beast of its size, even with being an apex predator like a tiger.

Rhuadhán knew he didn't have time to try casting the spell to speak with an animal and reason with it, nor was he the least confident that it would listen even if he could because it was undoubtedly a servant of the Master of Kangri Rinpoche. Pure instinct caused him to shift his magic and call on the force of Time to save his arse from getting pounced and mauled.

As the tiger made the leap at him, the Champion was making a break for it to one side and twisting around to keep it in sight.

And as the tiger was completing its arc to land in the now empty spot Rhuadhán had just been occupying, gargantuan fluffy paws slipping a bit to gain purchase on the rock shelf, he saw that the tiger wasn't alone, though they were usually solitary hunters.

'Are you kidding?! That's not Queensberry Rules, you smarmy prick!"

Visibility as poor as it was, he hadn't been able to initially make out two more tigers, of about the normal three meters in length, that had been stalking in from opposite angles ahead of him. Probably maneuvering for the big one at the rear to have a lunge for his back, and then they would have rushed in to help finish him off.

The Champion wasn't allowed to kill anyone, nothing with a soul and was capable of understanding that rule could; but the Master of Kangri Rinpoche was apparently bent on going full Monty on the loophole that animals could act out natural law and he'd have to find non-violent means to deal with it.

Rhuadhán looked around for signs of more tigers, between quick glances behind himself to guide his way as he jogged backwards, to put some distance between himself and the three he knew of. He couldn't see any stragglers.

That was hardly reassuring because those three tigers, they weren't able to quite keep pace with him stepping through time as he was, but they were moving with a terrifying level of supernatural swiftness. Even as he was stepping through seconds and gaining a margin of distance from them, they seemed to have little trouble tracking and reacting to his movements. The Champion could tell they weren't under Time magic as he was, but they were indisputably modified with some form of alteration magic to increase their speed and mental processes to have a proper chance of hunting him. He had never seen anything quite like this before; at least, not in this life or his few scattered memories of the most recent one previous. He had no idea if he had encountered something like this in a more distant incarnation, or if this was an entirely new trick that had been worked out.

Whatever was done to the tigers, he was not the least accustomed to things being able to hunt him while he was in Time. And they definitely wanted to hunt him down. The big one stayed in the middle, waiting for a chance to lunge straight at him, and the two smaller ones fanned out to either route him or attack from the sides.

"You absolute minging potato!" Rhuadhán cursed as he scanned the terrain to form a plan so he wouldn't get boxed in and kept moving to keep distance between him and the beasts stalking him. "I know you wouldn't be siccing bloody tigers enchanted in such ways on a monk trying to make this trek! If you think this will wring an apology out of me and send me to my knees begging for mercy, you're going to be sorely disappointed!"

The tigers fell into a formation with about five meters between them, the one on the right dropping down over the side to the rock shelf below the one the rest of them were on. There wasn't enough space for him to try dashing between them without getting attacked from one or both. They clearly wanted to herd him to the side of the narrow valley; and given that he was about to reach the river, which was blessedly low because of the time of year, he was probably about halfway across the valley. Once he hit the slope, he'd have nowhere to go. At least not without turning his back on them to try clambering up the side. He could pull off some impressive feats of reflexes and dexterity with his training being what it was, especially when he was bending Time around himself, but he was certain the powerful beasts would pounce him before he could get far.

That left the other option of angling around to dash down the path away from his intended destination before the tiger on the right could cut off the option. But that meant retreating, rapidly losing the distance he had made up the valley; distance that he'd have to backtrack up at mundane speeds after figuring out how to deal with the animals. And he still wasn't sure how to deal with three bloody tigers stalking him in concert...

Rhuadhán had to turn his back on the tigers long enough to take a running leap as far as he could across the river, catch his balance, and trudge the last few feet across. When he turned back around, the tigers had gained two meters back on him.

Even if he was willing to try the spell to talk to animals to try calling off the big one and hope the smaller would follow its lead, or try some other purely defensive spell like trying to put them to sleep, he couldn't pull off casting spells while bending Time. If he tried to drop his Time magic to cast something, those beasts would tear him to shreds before he could get a proper spell out. He couldn't pick up the pace to make a proper run for a distance to get more space between them to allow for spellcasting, not on the slippery rock face; he was barely maintaining this pace without tripping up. His talismans on his belt, even if he pulled one out from under his namjar, were useless against animals, they were meant for spirits.

The tigers leapt clear across the river when they reached it. 'Bloody felines made it look easy too. Shite.'

So what options were open? Making a break for it down the slope, trying to avoid slippery sections of rock and not get too much forward momentum or he'd risk breaking his damn neck, with only the goal of putting distance between him and the tigers? Didn't seem like a good idea at all. He had no idea how long they might chase him. If they would stop at a certain point and simply wait for him to try coming back up, if they were limited to prowl the Lha-Chu Valley itself; or if the magical beasts had supernatural stamina to go with the speed and permission to chase him as far as they wanted down the mountain. He did know he couldn't outrun them indefinitely. He'd burn through his magic, and then be left in an exhausted physical state, unable to defend himself or try climbing the rest of the way.

He could tolerate not moving forward briefly, having to take lateral movements to survive, but he was not losing ground he had gained through this miserable storm and risking not making it to the summit in time if more upsets arose; or being chased down the whole damn mountain until he collapsed and was eaten alive.

So how to deal with these blighters without getting himself disqualified? How to do so in an expedient manner so he wasn't too worn out to continue?

Rhuadhán was almost out of flat ground behind him, the slope looming ahead through the storm. And even if he had put a solid fifteen meters or so between him and the tigers, they were still stalking after him with single-minded focus to route or attack him.

Sapphire gaze darted around again, but he couldn't see any way to disengage from this situation that wouldn't screw him out of his win, and possibly get him served up as tiger chow in the process.

"For a guy who is supposed to be on the fluffy-love and peace side of things, you certainly love putting people in nearly impossible to escape life or death situations!" the young Champion said through gritted teeth. He really didn't like being cornered and under restraint to not defend himself properly.

'You know what? Fuck these cats,' Rhuadhán thought in a pique as he came to a split second decision.

He came to a stop with only a few meters of space left behind him, shifted his stance, and then dashed as fast as he could, heading straight for the smaller tiger to his left. That abrupt change in tactics surprised the animals, causing them to skid across the slush covered rock to bring their swift movements to a halt and try gauging what he was planning. Before they could recover or make a charge for him, staff went out and slammed into one of the notches in the rock like a pole. He shoved off with every bit of strength he had, propelling himself to go up over the left flank tiger.

The tiger realized just what was happening as his running leap brought him arcing overhead, and twisted its body up to try swatting him out of the air with one of its large snowy paws.

Rhuadhán understood feline behavior well enough that he fully expected it to make that attempt and, as he saw the beast's muscles contracting to make its move, he twisted and tucked his legs up to try avoiding the strike.

Massive paw swept in as he was just passing the mid-point of his arc. Faintly yellow claws raked across the side of his shemdap, but only managed to tear pleated fabric.

The Champion tucked in further to protect himself as he came down from the arc, landing on the rock shelf a few meters behind the tiger in a roll. 'That's going to leave some nasty bruises,' he thought with a groan of pain as he untucked and shoved up to his feet, and saw the tiger he leaped over was turning around where it stood and the other two were making a charge for him.

"You are not the sort of pussies I want to be playing with tonight! Just bugger off already!" Rhuadhán was back to jogging, turning himself around to see where he was going and relying on glances over his shoulder to gauge where tigers were maneuvering. Much as he didn't want his back to them, it was easier staying out of reach of pouncing distance this way, zig-zagging back across to the other side of the valley as he tried to figure out how to permanently shake off the tigers.

When he got a good lead on them again and was almost out of space, he angled towards the next rock shelf and hauled himself up as swiftly as he could. Then he was trekking across the valley again to get some distance between him and the tigers, who weren't quite as quick up rock shelves as they were across the river. Whatever speed magic was being done to them, they had some minor issues with redirecting their increased momentum and making smooth turnabouts. Zig-zags and turns were definitely his allies to keep distance from them.

Even if he had maneuvered the chase in the direction he wanted, he was still facing the same problems considered for retreat of eventually exhausting himself of magic and physical stamina, especially trying for an uphill trek. He had twelve meters to go before reaching Shiva-Tsal. He had never pushed just how long he could maintain running with Time bent around him, but he knew he got pretty damn zonked after eight or nine kilometers. He highly doubted he could maintain this game of cat and mouse all the way to Shiva-Tsal, especially because that distance would be made even longer with having to make lateral zig-zags as he was, even with the motivation to not be tiger food to push himself as long as he could. And he had been briefed enough on the terrain he'd be going over to know that in a few kilometers, as Lha-Chu Valley became the western corner of Dolma-La pass, the trail was going to narrow even further, in some places there was only room for a few people to stand shoulder to shoulder. He'd have no dodging room if his magic gave out.

If he stayed ahead long enough that they chased him past Dirapuk Monestary and into the Valley of the Dead, he'd be potentially trying to dodge tigers and spirits. And if he somehow survived the both and didn't drop somewhere in the Valley of the Dead, and they chased him all the way up to Shiva-Tsal, he'd be tiger food if he tried to stop to undertake what needed to be done there. His only option at that point would be hoping he could make it two more kilometers to Magie, where the tigers could be dealt with in non-lethal fashion, but then he'd be forfeiting his chance to go up to the mountain summit because he had crossed beyond Drölma Rock without the last thing he needed.

He was not running to Magie and the wolves for help like a little bitch. He sure as hell wasn't sending up a magical flare for getting pulled out of this and losing by default. He was going to get himself out of this dog's dinner of a situation, and in a way that still left him with enough magic and stamina to slog through whatever else came at him.

The big question was: How?! ...This really wasn't looking promising for options. But there had to be something he could do that wasn't going to cause a loss. He just had to figure it out.

Decent lead gained again, the next rock shelf wasn't so high and he jumped up onto it. Oh, this was a right mess. Bugger these tigers. Bugger that old prick. Bugger all this.

The young Champion spared a second to look up at the storm covered sky in exasperation. He sent out his sarcastic thoughts in a prayer as his gaze went back forward, to the patron whose season of reign it was. 'Hey, Dark God? You there? It's me, Majikahla. Um... You seeing this shite down here?!' He glanced over his shoulders to check where the tigers were, and angled himself a little further north to keep one from being able to circle around on him and cut off his next jump up a rock shelf. 'I don't usually ask you Three for anything because you've already given me access to the big boy magic, but I think this qualifies as extenuating circumstances. If it's not going to get my arse disqualified for it, maybe send a Priest a bit of inspiration on how the bloody hell to get himself out of this clanger with what magic he has prepped?' Another glance over his shoulders, and it looked like he was good for the moment. 'I'll do all the work, I'm not asking for a rescue, but unless you've decided you want a different son in law, perhaps give a bloke a tiny clue on how not to end up as tiger chow?!'

Rhuadhán lifted himself up onto the rock shelf, and the tigers made tighter turns this time, moving in a close V formation with the big one in front, not taking quite as long to follow after. 'Shite, they're learning what I'm doing.' This kept up, they'd be moving to make the leap ahead to keep him from heading across, or otherwise fuck with his progress somehow.

And, unfortunately for him, the Dark God didn't give him so much as the faintest nudge of inspiration. Like he had been the last moon cycle, it was radio silence. Maybe it would get him disqualified to even get a hint from his patrons? Whether that was the reason or not, he really was completely on his own for this.

This was such a load of shite. Seriously, fuck these tigers. He was out here, dodging about on the rocks like a cockroach at a tap dancing party. That old prick was probably having a grand laugh at his expense right now, just waiting for him to slip up. And he could feel magic fatigue creeping in from holding the Time magic like he was. He really couldn't afford to keep this up. He needed to be saving his magic for the ascent to the summit.

And fuck this storm! The sleet might not be able to affect him as much when he was in Time, but it was still pea-soup visibility out here. He couldn't see more than a few meters ahead at a time, leaving him unable to try planning more than evasions.

Rhuadhan made another leap across the river as far as he could, stumbling a bit on the uneven bottom and so very grateful for the staff to catch himself with, and then slogging to the other side.

And fuck the bloody river as well! Crossing it repeatedly was making him even colder than he already was! And the landings were killing his feet! He was pretty sure at least a few blisters had ruptured from the sharply more sensitive areas on the soles of his feet. He had been hoping to at least make it onto Dolma-La before that happened.

There was nothing helpful in this forsaken valley to deal with the tigers! He couldn't even use the river to his advantage. Those damn tigers leapt straight over it. And even if they didn't, even if he could get them in the water, he had no ice spells prepared to maybe try freezing their furry paws in it and leaving them stuck in the ice. He hadn't expected something like this to happen, and he was in the middle of a half frozen environment to begin with, so he had skipped over the ice and other elemental spells to avoid potentially killing something, in favor of spells that seemed more likely to be needed. And even if he had prepped an ice spell, he would get pounced and mauled by at least one of them before he could fire it off because he'd have to drop the Time magic and stop to cast it, and wait until the tigers were closing in because his magic could only reach just so far out from himself right now, and he probably wouldn't get them all with one spell.

The Champion gave the tigers less notice about heading up a rock shelf this time, not waiting quite so far into his trek back and making a sharp turn for it instead of angling for it. They went skidding to try turning in time to follow him. There was another ledge a bare meter and a half away, and a glance over his shoulder told him he had just enough time to climb that one too. Then he was again dashing off to avoid the very determined overgrown kitties who wanted to make him their snack.

Where was a proper cliff when you needed one?! At least then he might be able to pull a Looney Tunes of leading them over and do a last second slide to one side, get at least one or two of them off his back that way. He was pretty sure that wouldn't break the rules, as that was their shite reflexes' fault. He'd have to dash all the way down the valley and back towards the pass to Sarshung to get to the closest cliff he knew of. A four kilometer hike backwards, which he'd then have to make up, wasn't worth only losing one or two of the tigers.

'Oh... I'm going to eventually find a way to pay that rat bastard back for being such a sore sport...' Rhuadhán thought vindictively. 'A few verbal jabs while I'm otherwise following his bloody rules for this asinine test doesn't warrant sending three Sonic the White Tigers after me. I don't know how yet, but barring the Queen of Evil imploding all of creation, I've got all the Time in the universe to think up something and find the most appropriate moment to spring it. This is sooooo not over with after tonight.'

The next time the young Champion lifted himself up onto a rock shelf, the Godzilla tiger made an even tighter turn than before and, as he feared might eventually happen, it leaped up on the rock shelf ahead of where he was planning to dash down. The other two tigers stayed below, coming up on his rear side in hopes of catching him if he tried backtracking. He had already calculated out that if this happened, and he tried to go up, whichever tiger was on level with him would just shadow him and encroach closer, pushing him further towards the edge of the valley until he was out of room and it or the others could nab him. And he didn't have enough room to try making a running leap over Godzilla tiger, nor did he think he could get near high enough to avoid its monster claws.

So Rhuadhán did the only thing he could, much as it galled him to do.

He turned himself around, slammed the staff against the ground, and launched himself over the two smaller tigers as hard as he could, hoping to land a couple rock shelfs down from them and be back on his feet before they could give chase.

The tigers weren't expecting that after spending so much time chasing him up the valley. The one nearest tried to twist itself to leap and swipe him out of the air, and it looked like it just might get him this time.

Rhuadhán was saved from finding out what it was like to get his side rended open by tiger claws because the other tiger couldn't quite turn off in time from his charge and slammed into the first's hind legs. The first was knocked off balance and they tumbled over together, with the first snarls he had heard from them being exchanged at one another for the collision. The noise was distorted by his Time magic, but he caught the reverberations of it starting as he sailed over and past them.

The Champion didnt have time to thank his lucky stars for the save, because he was arcing down already and had to tuck up protectively for landing. And this one was a much harder landing to try absorbing because it wasn't a lateral jump and gravity was a right bitch like that.

Rhuadhán could help the yelp of pain that escaped him as he impacted with unforgiving rock. He kept his head, neck and legs safe, but the left side of his back impacted first and he felt a sharp pain lance out. He didn't even have time to register he had a cracked rib or two, nor that he lost hold of the staff, as more pain followed from the road rash of skidding against rock with little to no protection for his skin. He couldn't pull out of the tumble in time to stop himself from going over the edge of the rock shelf he had landed on, and he hit the one below with another, albeit not nearly as severe, jarring thud. He skidded a few more inches and then finally came to a halt.

Rhuadhán groaned in pain, then was gasping as he struggled to lift himself up. It didn't feel like the cracked rib or ribs, which he was now acutely aware of, had fully broken and pierced any vital organs, but there was more than enough pain to feel from it and elsewhere and it was making it hard to catch his breath. The outer side of his left arm and leg were bloodied and had bits of ice and gravelly pebbles embedded, and he had scraped up part of his right forearm and leg as well.

And as he was trying to regain his feet, multiple realizations outside the catalog of pain struck him in quick succession.

He didn't have the staff to help pull himself up off the ground.

He could properly feel sleet hitting him, stinging at his injuries and swiftly spreading their chill.

The sound of the storm was back to being the ungodly racket it had been.

He had lost his hold on Time.

He was moving at the normal flow of Time.

The Champion felt a stab of fear then, and he grabbed the edge of the nearby rock shelf just above his head with his right hand to help pull himself on his knees so he could try to see over and locate the tigers and gauge how long he had until they caught up to him. Words to his sleep spell came to mind.

And as he was pulling himself up, half afraid they'd already have caught up and he'd come face to face with one of the beasts and have his face bitten off for the effort, he heard tiger snarls. Very close by. There was movement ahead, he could just make out one tiger through the sleet coming down.

Then Rhuadhán realized the tiger wasn't approaching him.

And there wasn't just tiger snarls echoing and distorting on the winds.

There were much quieter, but just as menacing, growls coming from ahead, and the tiger's attention was on the source with its back to him.

There was more movement ahead as sounds of animals fighting became louder.

Before the young Champion could register what was going on, streaks of black and white and reddish-brown were coming his way. And he felt a familiar energy emanating from them.

"Holy Mother of All Wolves," Rhuadhán murmured, and this time the exclamation wasn't one of sarcasm. Six large wolves were dashing towards him, forms seeming less than fully corporeal and shimmering faintly with unearthly light; and their postures were not the least threatening as they made to surround him. He could hear an unknown number of other wolves sent by The Mother engaging the tigers to chase them off and, from the sounds of things, those wolves were more than corporeal enough to do damage.

As the first wolf made it to the Champion, one of the red hued ones, and gave a worried lick at his face, he gave a wheeze of a stunned laugh. Apparently he wasn't the only one who thought this had been stacking the deck too far against him.

Another wolf approached and it immediately set about licking at his left arm. "Oy, I know you mean well, but..." As he flinched away, he saw that the spot the wolf licked was devoid of debris and the skin was starting to heal over. "Oh, well then, never mind. Carry on."

Rhuadhán sagged against the rock shelf he was leaning against, and right hand weakly patted the front leg of the wolf by his head, who was radiating out a sense of safety and still nuzzling at him. As the other five wolves set about giving his injuries what was apparently to be a healing tongue bath, he said with a grateful look up at the sky, not caring about the sleet pelting him in the face to do so, "I'm not sure where you had to pull these wonderful woofers up from, but thank you for the timely interference play!" Chafing as an arranged pairing might be at times, at least it came with the side benefit of divine future in laws who appreciated his efforts and wanted this incarnation's arse to stay whole. All things considered, his patrons really were the best out of the divine lot.

Rhuadhán let his head rest against the edge of the rock shelf, eyes closing as he relaxed further because the sounds of animals fighting were moving further away and he heard pained noises coming with increasing frequency from the tigers. His own pain was bit by bit fading and he breathed a sigh of weary relief.

He said with strained humor returning, giving the wolf at his head another pat on the leg as he felt it settle next to him protectively, "Those cats should've remembered if you threaten a wolf, you get the whole pack calling a hunt on your arse. You lot are all on my Yule present list this year, you best woofers ever. I'll personally hunt you down a few antelope and have them out as offering for you, so you better come by and not let it go to waste." He gave another shaky laugh. "Oh, bloody hell, mate. Let me tell you, even when you know death's not a permanent end for you and the pain is ultimately a passing thing, the potential of being rended in a flurry of teeth and claws attached to a thousand kilo Godzilla tiger is going to get the ticker pumping. That was hair raising to try keeping ahead of."

The Champion gave another shaky laugh, and then it was cut short by a thought and sapphire eyes flew open. "Wait, are you woofers allowed to be here? Or am I disqualified for your presence that wasn't by personally summoning or conjuring you and getting the first aid treatment?! I want the record to show I only requested inspiration, I did not ask for the rescue!"

The red wolf head butted the obstinate mage-druidic priest with a small wolfy huff and then gave an unconcerned lick to his cheek.

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A/N: Deku, with as much as you seem to dislike Rhuadhán, I hope you'll enjoy the mental images of him scurrying about to avoid being tiger chow.

Also, to readers in general, and forestalling the question- Yes, I am having it that Raistlin's later incarnations cross-classed to pick up druid ranks. Once he took Mage/Wizard as far as possible and some prestige classes, he started delving into other forms of magic that those incarnations could tolerate to become the "Master of Magic"- ie, having no school of magic considered off limits. Canon Raistlin always had an affinity for nature/gardening and sympathy for animals, and wanted access to clerical type magics that wizards were denied, so druid (especially as it's the Gods of Magic's form of clerics in this series) was something he was willing to learn for access to magics that would help round out what he had already mastered. He's had a few lifetimes learning druid magic and then fusing elements of that for a prestige class I've developed for him based on a similar 3.5 model. Rhuadhán does not have access to all the collective magic in it's full spectrum because he's a 22year old guy whose body and mind aren't conditioned to handle channeling high level spells and hasn't unlocked his soul's knowledge of such magics yet. He is currently a nerfed form of his collective self from reincarnating and stuff past lives have done that have caused trouble for his soul.


	4. Chapter 4 Self Discovery

Chapter 4

Self-Discovery

Rhuadhán was eventually as patched up as the wolves could make him. His ribs were still cracked, but the outer injuries had been healed. And thanks to the positive vibes and magic emanating from the red wolf that had planted itself at his side, he felt his exhaustion and magic fatigue steadily easing, to about the levels he had been at when he first entered Lha-Chu Valley.

While the wolves had been going about their work, the storm passed by them and dissipated. With the clearer visibility, he could see the whole of the pack of guard wolves that had been sent. There were 21 wolves in total- seven black, seven white, and seven red.

That told the Champion everything he needed to know about what happened outside of what he had been immediately aware of and where the wolves came from. Not terribly long after Milarepa made his ascent up the mountain, a different monk, Götsangpa, was tasked with outlining the path of the sacred khora route around the mountain. He encountered all sorts of difficulties in trying to navigate and divine out what the proper path should be. Being the devoted man he was, he persisted and spent many weeks out here, pioneering the mountain passes and slopes and valleys, and piece by piece he had put together his map from the top of Drölma summit down through the Aksobahya Valley.

Götsangpa bumped into the Dakinis down at Kandrö Tora on the southeastern passes of the Gold and Red Cliffs. The Dakinis had taken a fancy to him and offered to help him with his task, guiding him over the next several days around the mountain and pointing out all the holy spots surrounding it that should be seen by pilgrims making the Khora journey for traditional purposes. And then, some kilometers north of where Rhuadhán currently was in the Lha-Chu Valley, Götsangpa had the misfortune of doing something that upset the Dakinis. They led him astray off his path, intending to lead him into a pass where a great white lion, Pavarti's personal servant, was waiting to kill him for whatever upset he caused.

Tara, one of the many regional names for The Mother, took pity on the monk and sent these same twenty-one wolves to the pious Götsangpa to protect him. Once the dangers of the fickle Dakinis were driven off, the wolves led the monk back on his path, helped him find the remaining holy markers along the path for his map, all the way up to the finishing point of Drölma summit. When Götsangpa reached the summit and was assured of his successful circumnavigation of the mountain, his wolf guides gathered together and were transformed into the gigantic cubic rock at the top of Drölma summit, known as Drölma Do. Drölma Rock not only marked the end of the journey, but supposedly would turn back into the wolf pack to aid someone if they were being targeted by the Dakinis for a wrath that the person did not justly incur on themselves.

Rhuadhán, while not remotely the especially chaste monk that Götsangpa was, had denied three Dakinis, including Parvati, entertainment of any form for the night and abruptly sent them away so he could focus on his time sensitive mission. Three white tigers, one of whom was even bigger than a lion, had been sent after him. And the Drölma wolves had been sent by The Mother to stop them because he had been the good future Consort he was supposed to be by putting his duties before personal pleasures and comforts.

Either the Master of Kangri Rinpoche, as tigers were more his forte, or the Dakinis had gone outside the normal bounds of the ritual's tests to pull this stunt as retribution for not taking the Dakinis' bait and issuing a threat while brushing them off. The wolves being sent to aid him and get his test back on track would not disqualify him for having the aid.

Once Rhuadhán was back on his feet, the wolves took off at supernatural speeds to head back up to Drölma summit where they belonged. Götsangpa had been on a different sort of quest and could have the continued aid, but the Champion needed to undertake the official parts of the test on his own.

The Champion checked through his belt's pouches and breathed a sigh of relief. Tucking for landing against impacts as he had, and with his namjar having been wrapped tighter around his torso and holding the pouches against his body as it had been, had also incidentally protected the contents from breaking and he still had everything he needed.

Rhuadhán climbed up the rock shelf next to him and recovered Milarepa's Staff, saying apologetically, "I'm sorry for dropping you during that last bit, love. Thank you for helping keep me on my feet while I was dashing about; I wouldn't have been able to do it without you. You've been an absolute peach through this." He glanced the artifact over and thankfully the magically imbued staff looked no worse for wear.

He looked up at the relatively clear sky, checking the positions of the stars and calculating how much time had passed to see where he stood in this test. Best as he could rough guess it, it was some time just after one in the morning. That lethal game of Keep-Away hadn't killed as much time as it felt like to him. If he had to guess, from the outside perspective, those tigers had been at their sport of trying to catch the man-blur for only a few minutes before being so abruptly interrupted. Given how far Drölma Rock was from here, The Mother must have sent the wolves to help him before he had asked the Dark God for the aid of some advice, as soon as The Three became aware there were tigers incoming, and the silence from the Dark God was because the aid was already on the way and he just needed to hold out.

The wolves patching him up once they arrived had taken longer to reverse the damage done in those few minutes, close to half an hour. They had done a bang up job with it, though. His side ached something fierce, but it wasn't a life threatening injury. He'd need to avoid other impacts that could turn the cracks into breaks and risk severe complications ensuing, but it would heal in a few days if he didn't do something to make the injury worse. Otherwise, besides his shemdap being shredded on one side and his hair having come loose from the braid, he wasn't any worse off than when he entered the valley. He cast a mending cantrip on the pleated skirt of the wrap, causing what pieces that hadn't been torn off to rejoin so his wouldn't be pulling a Marilyn Monroe every time the wind blew to keep his arse and family jewels covered and from freezing more.

He ripped a small piece off one end of his namjar to use as a replacement hair tie and set about re-braiding his hair to keep it out of his face. As he did so, he calculated the trek ahead of him against the time left. He had twelve kilometers or so left to get to Shiva-Tsal, which would take him about two hours for the barefoot hiking up relatively moderate slopes once he got out of Lha-Chu Valley; and then just two kilometers past that was Drölma summit and his finish line of the Drölma Rock, which was a steep hike and would take upwards of half an hour. Unless the Master of Kangri Rinpoche pulled another especially egregious stunt at Shiva-Tsal, from what they knew, the ritual there shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes to an hour to complete. They figured they should add an extra hour onto his time to get up to Shiva-Tsal for any complications outside the hiking itself for the Valley of the Dead to avoid or otherwise get past them.

That meant he had about four and a half hours expected work left. Sunrise was at 7:13 this morning. That left him about six hours to work with. Even with getting slowed down earlier than expected on the western slopes with the storm coming in so soon, and this stunt with the tigers, he still had an hour and a half window of margin for unexpected troubles beyond the time already budgeted for such troubles.

Rhuadhán unfurled his namjar and draped it how it had been to loosen his belt, expecting at some point soon he'd need spell components or talismans as he got ever closer to his goal and with still having so much time to spare. Rhuadhán gave a smirk as he finished setting himself to rights and looked up towards the mountain summit.

"I hope you're listening, you over-confident, self-righteous prick," the young Champion called up with a purposefully sardonic tone, "and aren't off somewhere sulking because that stunt with the tigers failed to kill me or make me tap out of this Test! I might not be at my peak yet and this body is vulnerable to injuries; but I am still the Master of Magic and Time! Even the Primordials know to keep out of my way when I reincarnate, unless they want to risk me finding ways to pay them back for the trouble when released from mortal flesh and my soul is unrestrained in the afterlife! You apparently need a reminder that there isn't a force in existence with the power to stand in the way when Magic and Time are allied! I have the unfailing protection of my patrons to make up for certain limitations I have right now! So enjoy the cheap laughs while you can because that's all you're getting! You don't have a prayer of a chance at stopping me! All you're accomplishing is making me more determined to beat you at your own game! I'll take your worst and still finish your last test! And then I'm coming up that summit at dawn, claiming my prize, and being one step closer to finally obtaining everything owed to me! And when this is done playing out, you are going to be nothing more than small notes in the Histories recalling the odds you stacked against me and I overcame during my ascension to power!"

And with that, Rhuadhán turned his attention towards the path ahead, focusing once more on Lemuel's mantra and resolved to survive whatever punishments would undoubtedly be coming his way for his defiance. Whatever pains he incurred, they were ultimately passing inconveniences and were a price worth paying to make it clear that he wasn't going to bow to anyone else's will. He'd go through this damn test because the benefits outweighed the costs, and follow the rules so he wasn't disqualified, but he'd do it on his own terms. He knew from everything he had been taught that reaching a temporary state of enlightenment didn't require being obsequious and penitent for someone else's definitions of "sin"; it required shedding external influences that obscured one's ability to understand and embrace one's truest state of being. He knew who he was, and he knew what power he was capable of growing into if his will remained unbroken. Nothing that dissenting bastard threw at him could steal that knowledge from him or convince him to abandon his goals.

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The next eight kilometers of travel- the two remaining for Lha-Chu Valley, and the first six of Dolma-La Pass leading up to Dirapuk Monastery- passed quietly.

No more storms to try slowing him down. No more animals to try menacing him. No stray spirits or quasi-goddesses to harass him. Even with having to make the barefoot climb over alternately gravelly or rocky surfaces and increasing spots of snow and ice, which had reformed even more blisters than the Drölma wolves had healed up for him, he was back to making rather respectable time up the Khora.

'There's no way the old man has given up and is just going to let me waltz through this last leg...' the Champion thought warily as he came around a curved, narrow section of the pass. He stepped out under the open sky from the wide, snowy ledge that overhung a length of the trail. He glanced up at the ledge, around himself, and along the slopes on either side of the path, a full perimeter scan that he was doing with increasing frequency. There was no sign of any lurking threats in his vicinity. "...Even with the Drölma wolves waking up and running back and forth through here so recently, which might temporarily scare off some nasties, this has been far too quiet. That blighter must be plotting something major to screw with me in the Valley of the Dead."

Just ahead of him, the path rejoined where the Lha-Chu River flowed. There was a split in the path here. The left hand path, going up over a decent sized foot bridge, he knew from Lemuel's Kailash geography lessons, led off the Khora route a short distance to Dirapuk Monastery.

Pushing straight ahead, following along the river for less than half a kilometer, he'd reach another bridge that he'd need to cross. Stepping off that bridge to the other side of the river put him at the official start of the Valley of the Dead length of Dolma-La Pass. It was a comparatively less steep climb for about two kilometers. There were small streams from glacier thaw, that may or may not be freezing over, criss-crossing along the path; but those would be shallow and easy to hop across, especially this time of year when they weren't swelling from spring and summer thaws. He'd eventually come to the sheltered meadow, which would undoubtedly be blanketed in snow, located at the intersection of a few mountain slopes.

He'd have to take the path almost directly straight ahead of where he entered the meadow from. Taking the usual far-right option there would lead him to the spot where the Dakinis had tried to lure Götsangpa. Going the far left way, across from the Dakinis' would-be death trap, would lead to a cave Götsangpa later took up residence in, and the not so far left path would lead up onto a glacier.

From that meadow, it was a kilometer and a half to Shiva-Tsal and its waiting test. When he was done at Shiva-Tsal, it was a two kilometer hike up an especially steep path with three false summits that an unwary pilgrim might mistake for Drölma summit, but those false summits at least served as a small flat stretch to rest at on the way if needed. He had to make sure he didn't call it a morning until he reached Drölma Rock, marking the true summit at end of the torture leg of the hike, where Magie and the Dark God's wolves waited.

He was six kilometers from his goal of reaching Drölma Summit by dawn, with just one side stop left along the way. He didn't need to look at the stars to know he had left that ambush site in Lha-Chu Valley about an hour and a half ago. He had roughly four and a half hours for what was about an hour and fifteen minute long hike, and that was providing he did it the old fashioned way and didn't use Time magic to speed things on the home stretch from Shiva-Tsal to Drölma summit, and a ritual that had a maximum guess of an hour to complete.

There was no chance of some ambush or trap of some kind not lying ahead to try keeping him from finishing the Khora route in record time, having some time to rest himself, and going up that summit in a marginally refreshed state.

Unfortunately, besides the obvious answer of spirits or animals, the Champion had no way to guess what tricks the Master of Kangri Rinpoche might try next.

'Well, no use waffling to myself about it...' Rhuadhán thought, heading towards the river. It had been near six hours since his last break for a drink and he was starting to feel parched. Better to have a short break now, before he went trekking up the last leg of the journey and whatever dangers awaited.

When he bent down to conjure a cup and fetch himself a drink, the Master of Magic felt a faint flickering aura of magic coming from the water. He reversed his plan for retrieving a sip, swiftly standing back up and moving away from the water. Lemuel hadn't mentioned Lha-Chu River having magical properties, like Gauri Kund did. That was something his former monk of a best friend most definitely would have told him about as being somehow part of the ritual to get to the summit, or a secondary feature of this place to either take advantage or be wary of.

Rhuadhán couldn't tell from so brief a sensing if the water was newly enchanted with some property, or something magical was lurking in the water, but being near it was undoubtedly a bad idea. If he cast the cantrip to actively see auras with his own two eyes, he'd have to drop the enchantment to see in the dark because those two spells did not interact nicely with one another. The enchantment for seeing in the dark, he couldn't recast it without study, and he hadn't been able to bring his spell book with him. He did know an alternate cantrip to make a single object glow with a light that simulated its aura, but it wouldn't work on a river and its ever changing water.

Nothing leaped out at him as he stared warily at the river for near a minute, poised to activate his Time magic if needed to outrace some new magical creature or water spirit or another sort of spirit just using the water as cover.

'Well then...' Rhuadhán thought after the minute had passed. 'If it's a sentient nasty of some kind, it's apparently content to lurk unless I get in easy grabbing distance. If it's an enchantment on the waters itself, it doesn't matter what it is so long as I leave the river alone... I think I'll go rustic and melt some snow for a drink...'

He conjured a cup and walked over to the slope opposite the river and spotted many a pristine sections of snow. He couldn't passively sense magic auras over here, and holding his hand out a few inches from the snow and extending his awareness wasn't picking up any fainter traces. That was more promising, but he'd still cast a general counter-curse on the melted snow to be safe.

He tried to scoop up some snow with the cup.

"Tried" being the operative word. The snow melted and disappeared beneath his cup before he could touch it, as though his cup was some kind of vaporizer.

Sapphire eyes narrowed and he said with mild exasperation, "Now that's just petty... and lacking subtlety." Rhuadhán gave a resigned sigh, dismissing the conjured cup from his hand. "Well, it's you, so I shouldn't have expected any better. Fine then. I wasn't that thirsty to begin with, so I'm not going to the river to be ambushed or magically drugged. Bugger off with whatever attempted trap this was."

With that, the Champion started up the pass to get to the other bridge he needed to cross. He stayed near the slope to avoid getting too close to the river in case it wasn't a passive enchantment on the waters that he had sensed. He was also once again feeling grateful to have the staff with him for support, as his blistering feet were beginning to hurt enough to make him limp a little as he navigated the rocky path and tried to avoid especially sharp looking rocks. Being able to put some of his weight on the staff and have less on his feet made it slightly more tolerable.

When he reached the bridge, he cautiously approached it, hand not holding the staff reaching out to sense for magic in the river beneath it. There was magic present here as well. So either the whole thing had been enchanted to try drugging him wherever he might think to stop for refreshment, or there was a spirit or other nasty shadowing him up river. He scanned the other side of the river, and didn't see anything lurking there.

As he couldn't avoid crossing the river, Rhuadhán decided it was better to be safe than sorry. He tapped into Time and made a speedy crossing over the bridge, looking out for anything that might try to rise up from the water to grab him.

Nothing came after him, and he stepped off the bridge and a few meters into the Valley of the Dead. Time was released as he looked around again, half expecting something to try pouncing him after the river failed whatever its purpose was. Still, nothing came to harass him.

He didn't trust this one bit...

Regardless of his growing sense of something decidedly unpleasant waiting to spring, however, there wasn't anything to do but wait for whatever it was to show itself. And being in the innately creepy vibes area of the Valley of the Dead, this is where people with undisciplined thoughts were most likely to start having mental troubles in the trek, even when spirits weren't around to cause trouble. Knowing that, he wasn't going to give free openings to mindfuck him out of pushing forward.

The young Champion once again brought to mind the mantra Lemuel taught him and concentrated on it to help zone out from some of the pain in his feet and the uneasy feeling caused by knowingly walking towards some sort of unavoidable trap. After a few passes of the mantra, he could feel himself starting to ease the reactive nervousness, and after a few more he had his thoughts and emotions under proper control. Whatever the Master of Kangri Rinpoche was plotting, it wasn't going to be a large enough obstacle to keep him from the finish line so close at hand. He'd keep pushing forward, no matter how difficult the old bastard made his path to victory.

Rhuadhán turned his attention to the task ahead and, mantra still going in his mind, started up the path that would lead him through to Shiva-Tsal.

Outside the protection of being in a bent stream of Time, the Champion made it precisely three steps further into the Valley of the Dead when the trap was sprung.

As his foot connected for the third step, a burst of magic left the ground, shot straight up into the bare sole, and flashed up through his body along the path of his veins. The magic left a discordant ringing sensation in its wake that stunned all capability for movement; not unlike being struck by lightning, though pain didn't accompany the magic.

That reverberating sensation grew as it filled his body, and within seconds it began to congregate within his head, scrambling his capability to think straight. Rhuadhán's vision blacked out as the magic grew in intensity, body going numb as his consciousness slipped away.

And then, as suddenly as it started, the magic shot back down his body and into the ground.

The young Champion's body dropped to the ground, limp as a ragdoll, staff clattering to the ground next to his inert form.

.

.

.

The first thing Rhuadhán became consciously aware of was the pain of rocks pressed against the side of his face and skinned knees stinging. A bewildered groan escaped him as he reactively rolled himself onto his back and a hand went up to brush off the gravelly bits. Normally strong muscles were trembling with fatigue like he had spent a sixteen hour day out training with the hunters.

He could feel a few small sticky spots as he brushed the rocks away. Bits and pieces of what happened just before he passed out began to filter back into his memory.

Eyes blinked open, intending to assess how much blood was on his hand and therefore how bad the cuts were. He couldn't see a thing.

The Champion's first thoughts were that he had been stricken blind. Was the Master of Kangri Rinpoche going to force him to fumble about up the last kilometers of the path without being able to see where he was going or what was around him? That was impossible to do. He had some training in navigating in darkness without aid of magic to see, it was part of bootcamp training with the hunters; but he was in the middle of a treacherous mountain filled with all manner of hostile things that went bump in the night and could be directed by the Master of Kangri Rinpoche to where he was. He could avoid wandering off a cliff with his staff poking about, but he'd have no way to tell where he was, what turns to take, where the Shiva-Tsal monument was, or make it safely up inclines. He'd be lost in no time, and likely set upon by spirits or animals before he could do anything to defend himself...

And speaking of his staff, where was it?!

He reached out and felt along the ground for it, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt warm wood beneath his fingers give a comforting pulse of magic in recognition.

"There you are, love... Knew you wouldn't have gone too far on me. Right and proper artifact that you are, you know we're in this together."

Ruadhán drew the staff closer and his head settled back against the ground, staring straight up as he tried to collect his thoughts and figure out what to do next. And that's when he noticed a few stars above, peeping through thick clouds with hazy glimmers of light.

He wasn't blind; it was only that his enchantment on his eyes had gone out during whatever magic had hit him and the minor source of natural light was being obscured.

'Well, that's a relief,' the Champion thought with another sigh escaping him, shifting to a defensive one knee crouch. His balance was a bit wobbly, but at least he wasn't lying prone. He planted the butt of the staff against the ground in front of himself for helping keep his stability and to be at the ready to lash out if he heard or sensed something trying to sneak up on him. He worked to gather up his thoughts in rational order and then considered the current status of his situation.

'First things first, I need to see proper so I don't get jumped. Then diagnostics on what that magic was about so I know what's going to be fucking with my progress. Then get my arse moving because I have no idea how long I've been laying here and I can't get enough of a look at the stars to tell me. Unless that old prick is being entirely unsporting, again, and knocked me out until just before the sun's due to rise, which would get him in ten kinds of trouble with The Three, there should at least be some measure of time left where I stand a narrow chance of being able to finish this test if I keep my head and don't dawdle.'

Given that he was at the last leg of the khora route, at such a high elevation off-limits for overnight camping, creating light to see by wouldn't get him spotted by pilgrims camping on other spots to the west or east of the mountain, nor the monks at the monasteries. There was a slim chance authorities might still be awake and doing patrols; but he highly doubted they'd be this far up the khora and able to see him because there'd generally be no one attempting to trek up this way so late at night to monitor, and that storm raging for a few hours earlier was sure to have kept everyone else bunkered down. That left as the only real risk attracting the notice of whatever creatures or spirits might be around. With the Master of Kangri Rinpoche dogging his steps anyway, refraining from doing something just to avoid that sort of attention was a moot point and left him at the disadvantage.

He sifted through one of his pouches until he felt the familiar teardrop shape of his favorite sunstone.

Near three and a half years ago, his father and Master Horton had informed him that The Three wanted the newly initiated Priest to undergo some sort of complex magical procedure for being put into a bodily stasis and his consciousness sent out in an advanced form of astral projection. It was meant to be a sort of mental odyssey for resolving some past life baggage that could potentially hinder his ascension to power and undermine his capability to fulfill his future role as Consort to The Daughter. He hadn't been the least thrilled with the reminder of his pending obligation for an arranged pairing in exchange for being granted the opportunity to gain such power. He did want that power, however, and he wasn't keen on whatever past life drama he hadn't unlocked memories of yet manifesting to blindside him and bite him in the arse, so he had agreed to undertake the ritual. That had been the first time he met Magie, who had been called in to help put him under and make sure his body suffered no ill effects.

When he woke up, a bit over three months later, which had been a longer time unconscious than expected, he had felt extraordinarily disoriented from returning to his body. He couldn't remember a thing about what took place in that time period. Lemuel and his father had been there to assure him that, while he had needed longer to complete whatever tasks The Three had set for him to refine his soul, he had passed those challenges even better than expected. Lending credence to those assurances was the fact that, once his wits were about him again and the initial shock of waking up that morning in a gods damned ger in a remote mountain in Mongolia had passed, he had noticed there had been an inner shift. It was less time consuming to gets his thoughts into a quiet Zen state; and he had felt a little less discordant inner vibes that needed to be ignored so they couldn't pull his higher consciousness out of his meditations. He had also discovered in the recesses of his mind a few new spells that he had apparently earned or created while doing his soul-searching out-of-body experience.

One of which was an easier to sustain light spell using a sunstone. With a bit of practice, he had been able to not only light up a stone, but tuned the magic lent to the stone to determine the initial intensity of the light. He was sometimes stuck in the ger for a few days on end, when not even the High Priests wanted to be dealing with active Siberian blizzards. The only things to do were talk to or play a local wood and stone board game with Lemuel, his father, or Master Horton, play the morin khuur his father had turned up for him because his guitars and violin had been left in London (much to his displeasure, regardless of them saying they had been concentrated on "necessities" and traveling light), and practicing magic. After a bit of messing around with the sunstone, whose charge could hold out for upwards of six hours at a time, he had figured out ways to adjust the intensity with different words of command, instead of dispelling the light and then creating a different one. Lemuel liked to go to sleep early, so the mystic had appreciated his tent mate finding a way to make a dimmer for the magical light that also didn't waste magic.

Rhuadhán quietly incanted, "_Bentushirak Endalam_." The sunstone lit up, pushing back the darkness around him and casting its warm glow for near ten meters around on the harsh landscape of the rocky mountain pass.

What that light revealed brought Rhuadhán's thoughts to a screeching halt and it felt like his blood was rushing from his head as his stomach simultaneously dropped down to his knees.

The landscape around him wasn't just desolate anymore. It was rapidly turning into a literal wasteland. Before his eyes, he could see the tiny bits of scrub between rocks rotting and dying as though in some sort of fast motion video. Rocks, parts of the very mountain side, were crumbling, bit by bit, breaking up into smaller pieces and then falling into dust. His own hands, clutching staff and stone, were beginning to age and wither, muscles shrinking and twisting, skin becoming spotted and weathered.

The Champion's eyes widened in fear. "What?! What the hell is this?! What sort of heinous curse did that bastard unleash?!" His gaze went back up, looking up the slopes immediately around him to check if whatever devastating destructive magic had been cast was going to bring a rockslide of some kind down on him before he could move out of the way in whatever degenerative state he had been likewise cursed with.

...It took several seconds, but Rhuadhán noticed something as he scanned around himself... His gaze went over a part of the mountain slope it had initially looked over, and the initial crumbling he had seen was for a moment gone... It swiftly began starting again, and the longer he looked at it, the further the decay went... His gaze went down, and his hands seemed almost normal, but then began to likewise start rapidly aging again... Then he noticed that his staff and sunstone in those hands weren't appearing to age, as though their magical properties preserved them.

"Son of a bitch! He didn't unleash some sort of corrupting, destructive spell on the whole area! He cursed me with some sort of freakish death vision!"

A slow, mocking clap came from ahead, as a glacial voice devoid of compassion said in English, "You've always been so quick, Majikahla. I told Him that you'd figure it out in under a minute of being able to see around you, so thank you for winning me that bet..." The Champion lurched to his feet in response to becoming aware he was not alone and infuriated golden hourglass gaze went to the speaker. "Now don't get hasty, old friend; I didn't leave Shiva-Tsal to attack you while you're off kilter..."

The quasi-god held up his hands, in a gesture of peace; but a sharp smirk pulled at his lips in a silent, near dare for the Champion to disregard his advice and see what happened with their respective states currently being what they were. The sharp ivory canines and incisors peeking out from beneath one side of his upper lip were the only properly distinguishable feature and gave away his smirk. The being was like the embodiment of night from head to toe. A void black gaze was just barely noticeable as two darker spots in his face. Hair of living shadows floated down from the top of his head, undulating down his back like countless tentacles of some great sea beast and obscuring the exact lines of his form. Skin and nails were the same shade as the closely fitting, ethereally ebon robes he adorned himself in.

"Then why are you down this way, Anubis?" Rhuadhán asked mistrustfully. He used a cantrip to stick the sunstone to the side of the staff, which the staff thankfully didn't try sloughing off, and then settled his now free hand on a talisman hanging off his belt in case it was needed. Unlike the Dakinis, he didn't even have scattered memories of this deity and any past interactions they might have had; he only knew what lessons he had been given about the Lord of the Underworld.

Smirk turned to a grin, exposing the full row of sharp, canine inspired teeth. "Now, now... That's Yama in these parts, Majikahla. Do show deference to local customs. Otherwise you ruin half the fun of being able to take guises and set a different ambiance."

"I am in no mood for such games right now," Rhuadhán snapped out. "Why are you here?"

Yama's grin remained. "I've come to escort you safely to Shiva-Tsal, old friend."

The Champion shook his head to that answer and said, matter-of-fact, "No. You've personally come, instead of sending your spirits, to pull some trick that will ensure I fail to reach the summit."

Grin shifted back to smirk and the quasi-god said with a hint of mocking indignity rippling out from his shadowy form, "Do you think I'd risk my Father's wrath by intentionally doing something to undermine the mission He and His counterparts have sent Their Favored on? You should know better, Majikahla. I only ever speak the truth as I know it; and the truth is I'm here to ensure you make it safely to Shiva-Tsal. And while we walk, we're going to have a friendly chat about this mission of yours…"

"So this is to be some attempted mindfuck," Rhuadhán interjected sharply, displeasure growing.

"Such a cynical assumption, Majikahla," Yama said sardonically. "I'm not sure if it's just your usual attitude this time, or if my reputation among mortals has colored your judgment of my character and you lack so many memories that you believe all that's said. The Three wish for you to be Consort to my baby sister, which means you're to be family if you prove worthy. I think a brotherly chat is well within my rights to claim while I have you so conveniently here…"

The Champion held back a humorless laugh. "You're saying nothing that dispels my assessment that you're here to cause trouble for my journey."

"I don't see why you'd come to that conclusion… Not unless you fear what truths I might speak as I guide you along. If you don't wish to heed my words, I can't force you. You already have my assurance I am not going to try to attack you, and I am bound by my word. So what's the harm in letting the Lord of the Underworld walk at your side? You're trembling with fatigue, not quite the hale self you're used to being. Refuse my aid again, and I can go wait up at Shiva-Tsal for dawn. But instead of the lesser spirits being kept at bay by my presence, you'll find them swarming in. Dawn is three and a half hours off; that curse knocked you out for over half an hour. At the pace you'll be able to manage in this weakened state, do you honestly believe you'll have time to continuously stop and deal with such disruptions, undertake the test at Shiva-Tsal, and then make it up to the summit?"

"It seems I have no choice but to accept your offer," Rhuadhán conceded through gritted teeth, starting forward and leaning on the staff to help him as muscles continued their tremors and each step brought sharp stabs of pain to broken blisters on his feet.

The Lord of the Underworld's smirk disappeared, and his glacial voice, so like his creator's, said stoically as the Champion approached him, "You always have a choice, Majikahla. It's a privilege of being mortal. No one could force you to take this Test. No one has forced you to push this far forward up the khora. You could send up a flare right now to signal to Magie that you want to be withdrawn from this Test…"

"That's not an option," Rhuadhán rebuffed the suggestion immediately, casting a withering glare over at the deity before turning his gaze back down to watch his footing as best as he could before the decay-vision crumbled away the appearance of the more unpleasant looking rocks and he risked stepping on them.

"It's always an option," the Lord of the Underworld disagreed stoically. He turned towards the path as the mortal drew alongside him and said as his form started floating forward to lead the way, "But you've chosen your priorities, and now it's simply a matter of what you're willing to risk sacrificing in the pursuit of obtaining them."

"I am finishing this Test and ascending that bloody mountain at dawn," the Champion stated immovably. "And when I reach the summit, the old bastard is going to hand over the Vajra, and then I'll be that much closer to fulfilling my obligations and claiming what is owed."

A quiet laugh reverberated from the shadows. "You've certainly set your will on those goals… But I can't help but wonder, old friend, with your memories as scattered as they are from reincarnating, and the limited resources and knowledge your attendants have, do you truly understand the power of what you seek from the Master of Kangri Rinpoche? The potential consequences if you can manage to awaken the power of the Vajra and unleash it on the world?"

This was a subject the young Champion was quite comfortable with, and he indulged the question to help pass the time and keep the quasi-god from seeking out other avenues to try mindfucking him. A casual gesture of the Champion's hand caused a small glowing illusion to form ahead of them on the path, the cantrip replicating a picture he had been shown. The picture came from a text that was almost five hundred years old.

Depicted was a figure as black as the god drifting alongside the mage-priest, wide face twisted into a fearsome animalistic scowl. He was adorned in tribal vestments of red, gold, and bone; with tiny severed heads hanging from the hems and elaborate silver jewelry at his neck, wrists and ankles. A crown of gold and skulls and red blossoms topped the figure's head, and around him was a halo of flames in which his enemies were burning. The source of that fire was the Vajra- a golden half-staff with both ends adorned in structures made of lotus blossoms cradling diamond spheres, and other symbolic adornments down the length of the staff.

"Not my most flattering depiction by a long shot," Rhuadhán said with a strained smirk forming, dismissing the image to concentrate on where he was walking. "I'm trying not to take it personal, as I've been told the Hindus have done this with just about everyone worthwhile because they like to embellish with their own symbolisms to the point where they're over-egging the pudding; and with their creative minds being what they are, even the most metaphorical of visions given by the gods can be taken a bit too literal…" He let his voice become a shade indignant as he asked, "By the by, have you seen how they depicted your sister?! Bloody hell! Smashing together different regional lore together as they did and not having any proper images of Her to use, they turned Her into some confused fusion of myself and The Destroyer! Lemuel told me no one's cleared that one up because of the conspiracy to keep The Daughter's identity a complete secret so the Queen of Evil couldn't go killing Her right out of the cradle; but I have to say, that mental image did not warm my pre-wedding day cold feet any."

Yama gave a snort of derisive laughter at that. "Yes, I've seen those images of my sister… They're even further off the mark than yours. She takes more traits from The Mother than any of the other influences used to create her, and her appearance is not remotely that of some man-eating demon."

"So I've learned. Once this war is done with and the cat's out of the bag on Her identity, we're getting some proper portraits taken to clear that misconception up in perpetuity. I am not looking at a pair of four-armed, blood dripping from fangs, hell-beasts every time I enter a temple or other places faithful choose to hang images of us at…"

Rhuadhán shook his head at the thought as he cautiously stepped an inch further than his current stride would have done to avoid a sharp rock; then circled back his line of thought to answer the original question. "Regardless of the trappings, though, the vision that High Priestess had from The Mother was absolute in certainty. 'Mahakala' was going to be returning to the world, and I would successfully lay claims to the Vajra and wield it when the forces of The Destroyer tried to descend on the world. And I know that as I am the Master of Magic and Time, there's not a single creation of magic that I can't gain control of. I will suss out what's needed to activate the Vajra and how to safely wield it; and make sure that when I do, it is only put to those uses I direct to help ensure this world is protected from what's coming."

"So you believe the staff is the Vajra?" Yama's voice now epitomized sardonicism.

Rhuadhán gave a sigh and shifted his grip on the staff to help keep him balanced because the slope was increasing its angle a fraction. He could also see the first stream ahead. He'd need trudge through it, he did not have the strength at the moment to leap over it. "Is this where you try to convince me with some misleading half-truth that I've been sent on a wild goose chase and the Vajra isn't here?"

"No," the Lord of the Underworld said, tone remaining the same. "This is where I tell you that the staff is but a tool; it is not the Vajra itself. And the Vajra isn't some petty magical artifact that will automatically latch onto you just because of who you are and reveal its secrets to you with a few coaxing words and a diagnostic scan or two to see the signatures of the spells it was imbued with."

The Champion gave the deity a half-feigned affronted look and then said in a stage whisper to the staff he was holding, "You just ignore him, love, he doesn't know what he's talking about. You're as fine an artifact as any, and it doesn't make you any less of a peach for having different talents than the Vajra."

"I can see why some people wonder if you've finally cracked after all these ages and things you've put your poor soul through."

Rhuadhán gave a snort of dismissive laughter. "In case you missed the memo, old friend," he said the last two words no differently than the others, but the full weight of dry English sarcasm was present nonetheless, "I don't give a damn about what other people think about my methods. There's a reason I've gotten this far, with the pathway made open to go all the further; while others can only muck about their daily drudgery and miasma of jealous gossip. And whether the Vajra is the staff or a complimentary artifact the staff empowers or directs, it really doesn't matter to me. I'll take command of it quick enough once it's in front of me and I'm subsequently able to puzzle out how they work together..."

He stopped talking to concentrate on the ice crusted stream. As they came within a few meters of it, he held out a hand and couldn't sense out any magic resonating from it.

"None of the streams are inhabited like the river was; nor are they under enchantment..." Yama said, sardonic notes still heavy in his voice.

Rhuadhán glanced at the deity suspiciously, but said nothing about that limited assurance given. He stepped to the edge of the stream, and had to ignore the slight sense of vertigo caused by seeing the illusion of that edge crumbling beneath his foot and throwing off his perception of just where that edge was. He could feel that edge, he reassured himself; it was there, he wasn't about to go dropping off into the river.

The stream seemed to swell before his sight, as though spring had fallen and glacial melt was entering it, and then the water evaporated as though there was a drought and the sediment strewn ground cracked open. The Champion looked away, reminding himself that the water was still there to deal with, then looked back. His staff poked out before the illusion could ramp up again, and he momentarily saw the proper result of it cracking the ice like it was nothing more than a layer of dried cake frosting, but then the ice melted supernaturally fast before his sight to join the swelling river.

Rhuadhán gave a frustrated sigh, hoping against hope this infernal curse would be removed if he passed his test; or that Magie could undo the curse when things were done at the mountain summit and there was no time limit to worry about. He poked his staff down into the stream and could judge by the wet mark left behind on the wood when he lifted it up that the stream was only five centimeters deep at the beginning. The middle-ish area his staff could reach didn't show as deeper than fifteen or so centimeters. And the flow was sluggish as could be without being stagnant, from the feel of the water against his staff.

Easy enough then; just step carefully to avoid potential partial impalement on any sharp rocks in the stream and he'd be fine.

The Lord of the Underworld was silent as the Champion started picking his way across. Rhuadhán noted with some irritation that the shadowy form easily floated himself across and then waited on the other side for his walking companion.

The Champion joined him soon enough, the water was only three meters across.

They continued on in silence for a few minutes. The occasional gust of wind, the thump of staff on rocks, and his own heavier breaths creating misty clouds in the cold air were the only sounds to assure Rhuadhán he hadn't suddenly been struck deaf while walking.

Just as the Champion was turning his thoughts to Lemuel's mantra, Yama's voice came from the shadows. "You're looking rather tired, old friend. Would you like to stop and rest a moment?" His glacial voice held none of the solicitousness that usually accompanied such words.

"I don't need a rest."

"Are you sure?"

"Bugger off with the stall tactics." Rhuadhán spared another passing glare for the deity. "I'm moving slow enough as it is; I'm not resting until we reach Shiva-Tsal."

"It's a rather unpleasant state you're in, I'd imagine."

"It's a passing inconvenience," the young Champion said dismissively.

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"This physical state might be a passing thing, Majikahla, but it's only meant to be a taste of what Time does to the world and the effects of tampering with it..."

"As you've just acknowledged," Rhuadhán bit out tersely, "I _am_ the Master of Time. I don't need lectures on Its nature or effects from entities who lack the capacity to even tap into It."

"Am I not allowed to express concern for my old friend who so stubbornly insists on not being content with his blessings and tapping into such a destructive force that will have increasingly detrimental effects the greater your connection to it grows?"

Rhuadhán held back a humorless laugh. "And with so simple a statement, you only illustrate your ignorance of Time and what I do with it."

"Would you care to enlighten me and ease my concerns for your future welfare?"

Rhuadhán allowed a mocking laugh to briefly escape him then. "I may not have my full knowledge at my disposal right now, but what I know of Time, Its nature and effects, my magic within It, and what I do to mitigate potential dangers would take days to outline, and weeks to explain so you'd have a proper base of understanding. I will pass and save my breath for breathing."

"So convinced that you, and you alone, can comprehend the force you toy with," Yama's voice held a hint of warning. "But just because I can't control Time, old friend, does not mean I haven't witnessed its effects in general, or on you. Title or no, even when your powers are at their height, you have never been able to fully Master Time. Your last three attempts have killed those incarnations, and two of those attempts nearly tore your very soul to shreds."

"We-ell..." the Champion's word came out uneven through gritted teeth, having stepped on a pointed rock just as he started speaking. He gave an annoyed grunt and said, "You know what they say. 'No pain, no gain'."

"Sometimes I can't tell if you're genuinely so determined to do as you aim; or if you've become tired of existing, but your ego won't allow you to end things unless it's at least in a manner that will be memorable for ages to come."

"I am not the least suicidal," Rhuadhán said without hesitation. "If I was, my will wouldn't preserve my soul as it does. I just understand nothing comes without sacrifice, and what I want is worth the risks."

"Hmm, yes... That legendary will of yours..." Yama's glacial voice was a shade quieter as they approached the next stream, which had somewhat faster moving water, if still shallow. "Always set to achieving what _You_ desire, you've frequently been willing to sacrifice others in attempts to get it..."

"If you're about to read me a litany of whatever sins past incarnations have possibly committed," the young Champion's voice was nearly as icy as he interrupted, "I am not the least interested in hearing it. Your idea and mine for what constitutes a sin are probably quite different. The Three are helping me with what is actually karmic baggage, and I don't need it redoubled. The Past can stay in the past because I'm more interested in moving on with my lessons learned from my experiments and continuing to improve my methods until I can finally achieve the desired outcome."

The Lord of the Underworld was silent as the Champion went about sensing and poking the stream. As Rhuadhán started crossing, Yama said, voice warning again, "While it's true that souls evolve over time, how do you expect to learn lessons from that which you refuse to acknowledge as mistakes? When you bear so few of the consequences of those mistakes? You've gone through so many variations of this same cycle of behavior. History repeats itself. And, every time, my gates receive new floods of souls that were killed prematurely because _you_ once again tampered with Time. My hall echoes with the wails of mourning; the pleas for mercy; the entreaties for return because they had so much to live for..."

"Sounds like a rough lot, mate," Rhuadhán said wryly, almost halfway to the other side and cursed gaze on the fluctuating image of the water around him as he tried to make sure staff and feet kept sure footing. "And while it's not a rousing good time for those souls either- given how Time works, I'm guessing whatever I did, it didn't actually make them go toes up that much sooner than they were meant. They can always reincarnate; it's not like I destroyed their souls. I'm also willing to guess that the majority of them weren't exactly the 'innocent' types to begin with. I'm not shedding tears over killing enemies or the useful idiots they employ. And if there were a few innocents in the mix, well, apologies for that I suppose, but casualties of war happen. I know I've done more than my fair share of protecting as well; and if I can claim the power I'm after, I'll be able to protect countless more. So if it comes down to it, I'll crack those eggs to make the omelet."

"And they call me cold..." the Lord of the Underworld said stoically.

"Sorry to be the one to break this to you, but Time ultimately doesn't give a fuck about the dreams and plans and comforts of lesser beings," the Champion said dismissively as he stepped out of the stream. He could feel his legs starting to get sharp prickles from the cold and being wet, even if this decay-vision was making it impossible to judge the nuances of what state his body was in. He made gestures to dry himself and then cast a full body warming cantrip to ward off frostbite as he continued speaking. "And you have no room to tell me how to do my job. If _you_ had been keeping a better eye on what was going on in your domain, Loki wouldn't have been able to pull the Queen of Evil's four horsemen of the apocalypse out of Tartarus and put them into play. Whatever extra souls this war sends down to your halls, that's directly on your arse this time. So you're just going to have to hold your nose, plug up your ears, and swallow down the wailing omelet when I serve it to you."

Yama offered no response to that assertion and followed alongside the mage-priest as he determinedly pushed on.

Some minutes of silence passed. Rhuadhán concentrated on Lemuel's mantra, trying to ignore the pins and needles feelings along the entire lengths of the soles of his feet and that the trembling of his muscles was slowly getting worse.

Another stream was crossed, then the quasi-god said with quiet seriousness, "I might be able to hold my nose and swallow it down, old friend, but are you sure that my sister will be willing to?"

"Last I checked, She doesn't have any more of a say in my methods than you do." Rhuadhán's words came out between labored breaths, and he was grateful to notice that the mountain slopes around them were angling down and he could see other slopes looming in the darkness. They should be coming up on that meadow within the next minute or two and there weren't any more streams to cross. "Is this infernal curse permanent?"

"No, it's not meant to be," Yama said, a shake of his head only discernable by the brief increased swaying of the tendrils of his hair. "Pass the test of Shiva-Tsal, and it will come with the side benefit of the curse being lifted."

"And if I fail, it will hardly matter," the Champion stated what the deity left unsaid.

"Precisely."

They fell into a heavier silence.

When they reached the meadow, Rhuadhán immediately headed towards the path he knew was the correct one so the Lord of the Underworld couldn't attempt any shenanigans to get him turned around and lead him down the wrong path. Once near it, he picked out a larger looking rock formation at the bottom of the right hand slope and paused his journey to lean against it.

As the Champion took a minute to catch his breath, the Lord of the Underworld said, "I don't know if you realize this, Majikahla, but while my sister might not have a say in your methods, she does have a say in who she chooses as Consort. If you get too ruthless, I highly doubt one of her nature is going to find it tolerable."

Rhuadhán glanced over to the deity and said dryly, "I'm only as ruthless as I need to be. If the universe hasn't been imploded and Time collapsing in on itself, and this world keeps spinning with all its little people living their little lives and nature's making a recovery from the corruption and war, I'm sure she's smart enough to weigh that against whatever I end up needing to do to ensure it happens and find that there's no competition on which was more important."

"She might be willing to accept such from a Champion the Three chose who she was obligated to accept as an ally… That doesn't mean she'll take you as Consort for the services rendered."

"She has to choose from those who are deemed worthy to put their name forth." Rhuadhán gave a small grunt of pain as he pushed off the rock and turned to head up the pass towards Shiva-Tsal. He continued speaking to his shadowy companion, "Let's go over Her options, old friend. We've got the boys over on Team Evil, who went quids in for their Queen's plan to destroy this world, and whose natures are antithetical to hers. Even if those buggers survive this war, they've already crossed themselves off the list. The boys on Teams Good and Neutral have either paired off already, or don't have the proper skills to fulfill all the roles She'd need as Consort and be acting replacement for the Lord of Light and the Dark God while they recover. Which means She needs to choose an up and coming star with no prior commitments to a counterpart and a rounded skillset. I'm ahead of the pack by leagues, and I'm the only one who stands a chance of making it over the finish line. So unless She wants to jeopardize the balances of this world, she'll do her duty and make the 'choice' The Three want her to make."

"So you're comfortable with such coercion to be selected?"

"The Three aren't going to hand the only true divine offspring they've been able to create off to just anyone. First off, She's their precious only child and they want her to be happy. Secondly, who She selects doesn't just affect her private life; it affects the whole bloody universe. They calculated out that our talents will play off the other's in the most beneficial of ways. So I'll welcome Her to the club of being so powerful that your usual rights get suspended if it's deemed necessary to preserving the continued existence of creation, and I'm sure she'll come around like I did to this arranged pairing."

"She's not The Three, though. She's not calculating things by the same measures, with the vast wealth of experiences and knowledge such ancient deities as my Father and His Counterparts have. Nor is she like you, weighing out things as the costs and benefits to oneself and looking for the most expedient option. What if she believes there's a more compatible choice? Or that a pair of Consorts, in following this world's traditions, can collectively fill her needs better than you? He or they might not be able to ascend to the level you aim for and have lesser powers, ones that might not help hers develop as swiftly and far as yours can, but she might weigh other things as being more important than just how well they can maximize her gifts and speed this world's recovery from a war."

The Champion gave the Lord of the Underworld a mildly vexed look. "Name one thing that would be so important to Her that I don't already have in spades and could tip the scales so much that she'd be foolish enough to choose another."

"Concerns for what comes after the war? It's one thing to need certain qualities in an ally against a common enemy so that your collective strengths are magnified to the point of negating your individual weaknesses and making you the victors; but there are different qualities one might desire in a partner they'll be spending an eternity with so they have personal fulfillment as well as professional."

"I'm a man of many interests and pursuits, and I can be quite charming when I'm not in War Mode," Rhuadhán said with an easy smirk forming. "Even once it's not necessary to spend so much time getting tantric with that little minx to enflame that divine spark of hers and push her to be capable of handling all I'm capable of putting out, I'm not thinking rocking her existence to its core is going to lose its entertainment value for either of us any time soon. It'll only get more fun once She's caught up to where I'm at. And unless The Three are misrepresenting their work and did a botch job on her creation and she only cares about her immediate purposes for existence- whatever interests she has and wants me to be a part of so she doesn't get lonely, I'm sure there will be at least a few I don't mind entertaining between other obligations. Depending on what they are, I might just be able to teach Her a thing or two about them or otherwise enjoy pursuing those mutual interests together."

"And there we come to the crux of the issue… Companionship is well and good, but such a thing can also be provided by other attachments a person has. With your will and knowledge of magic being what it is, you might be able to accomplish some of the tantric arts beyond what most born mortal can. But sacred coupling is a temporary melding between two souls, made all the more apparent when divinity is involved. Will is only one half of what makes a soul…"

"I'm aware of what an _omudais_ is formed of," the Master of Magic said with mild exasperation at this new lecture.

"Yes, you are. Academically," Yama said with grave seriousness. "And you've spent all your existence strengthening your will to try fortifying your soul, but you've neglected the other half because you know what a ruthless force it is that you wish to become Master of. The only things you have ever truly loved are yourself and magic…"

"Well, lucky for me, your sister is magic in its purest state. I can't love someone I don't know, but I'm sure that'll come in time."

"But do you have Time, old friend? Title or no, you are not truly Master of Time yet. Your attempts have met with repeated failure. You're at a point where it's all but impossible for you to truly have what you desire. And tonight I'm free to tell you why that is. It's because you've boxed yourself into quite the little paradox, Majikahla. Time _doesn't_ allow itself to be swayed by anything but its own preservation. Even if you gained the power to influence its course towards your own ends or to work with the goals of the collective Divine by convincing Time that such a shift is more conducive to its preservation, anything outside yourself and the Divine might still need to be offered up at some point in sacrifice to preserving Time.

"So you calculated out that it's not worth allowing your soul to embrace any sort of profound love; that you can spare yourself untold pain when needing to offer up whatever sacrifices Time demands to preserve itself by not feeling attached to those sacrifices. You decided to harden yourself to love and forge your soul with your will. But even with forging your will as strong as it is to match the force of Time, it has only been enough to keep you from tearing your soul to shreds when you try to join with it. Even _your_ unparalleled will is not enough on its own, Majikahla. You need the other half of what constitutes your soul to be just as strong as your will so you can keep your identity and not be subsumed by Time during that merge…"

The Champion gave an annoyed huff at that assertion. "So you're telling me the answer to the problem is 'love' and feeling enough of it by the time I make my next attempt so that I finally meet with success? A bit cliché, but as you're bound to be honest, I'll take you at your word for the sake of this conversation. If that's the case, that's not an insurmountable problem complicating the current plans for me claiming Consort to The Daughter. As you pointed out, other aspects of creation get exempt from being sacrifices to Time because they need each other for coexistence. Hence the appeal of taking your sister as a wife because a Goddess is a safe bet that I wouldn't need to sacrifice her to Time. If I've got to start the loving before taking up my rightful place as Master of Time, old friend, then why don't you tell me what Magie refuses to. Reveal where to find that darling little sister of yours. I'll pop on over to wherever She's being kept hidden after I finish this Test, and get on with learning enough about her to love her enough to not risk getting torn to shreds."

"If it were so simple, Majikahla, I would tell you where she is. But you can't cheat your way into becoming Master of Time by just raising enough superficial love that you manage your goal of claiming Time. Not unless you want that victory to be hollow and all your worst fears to come to life."

"And how do you figure that?" Rhuadhán asked, smirk returning. "Between Magic and Time, I'll have the power I rightfully deserve. The universe stays intact and the worlds stay whole, so I have plenty of things to influence and play with. I'll have that little minx of magic made flesh as my wife; and if she's half the lass I've been led to believe she is, I'll be quite content to have that one thing outside myself or magic that Time can't take from me. And as a side bonus, The Destroyer is going into a permanent lockup, so I'm not going to constantly be called upon in the future to help route her and clean up the messes made. Which means I can actually spend that existence doing more of the things I enjoy. I am failing to see where this supposed paradox is that I should back out from while I still can because it's going to keep me from moving forward any further."

"Because even if, by some small miracle, and no shortage of blessings by Eros, in a few short years you manage to scrounge up enough capacity to love to properly purify your soul and survive merging with Time; with the strains that will cause your soul, it's going to be quite some time before you'd have enough strength to claim a further position as sole Consort to my sister. And in the amount of time it'd take you to regain that strength, it'll be too late to try claiming her."

Rhuadhán's smirk slipped a fraction and his voice was sharp as he asked, "What do you mean, it'd be too late?"

"I mean that you don't seem to be properly factoring into your calculations just who and what my sister is. She might be created from Magic rejoined, but that's not all of who she is. Those streams were tied back together with the metaphysical threads of Will and Love, and then The Three took the immense time needed to foster my sister's fledgling existence to be more than just a sum of those parts so her divine nature could properly develop and be attached to the unclaimed force of creation they felt was most needed here."

"Aye, so I've been told," Rhuadhán said wryly. "No one's told me just what force outside of magic She has attachments to, though."

A fleeting flash of teeth as the deity smirked. "Perhaps they wanted to keep private an amusement many of us have had of what my sister's domain is and that you have now set your will to being her Consort…"

"Care to fill an old friend in on the joke?" the Champion asked with an eyebrow raising.

"Pandora's Box is opening up on this world and unleashing all its evils, and She is The Three's gift to push their influence out…"

Rhuadhán stopped walking, staring at the quasi-god. "Are you telling me that _She_ is literally… The Three are offering me _Hope_ itself for my wife?!"

A sardonic chuckle reverberated from the shadows. "I wish you had your full memories right now… You'd understand just how poetic your choice to pursue her is…"

"Knowing myself, I'm guessing at some point I said something less than flattering about Her nature…"

"Are you asking me to tell you what you said?"

"Why not? Go ahead and let me in on the joke." Rhuadhán turned his attention forward and continued the hike up the pass towards Shiva-Tsal.

"I believe your exact words were: 'Hope is the denial of reality…' " The young Champion stopped walking as the Lord of the Underworld spoke those words, mimicking the mortal's voice with eerie accuracy and causing him to feel a peculiar chill go down his spine. " '…It is the carrot dangled before the draft horse to keep him plodding along in a vain attempt to reach it.'" Yama's voice returned to its usual glacial etherealness as he said, following in Rhuadhán's shadow as the Champion resumed walking, "While some would disagree with you, and did, your cynicism isn't always unwarranted…"

"Are you telling me I shouldn't want Hope itself?" Rhuadhán unknowingly asked the deity parroting his own words back at him a very similar question as the one he had originally said those words to.

The quasi-god's voice was pensive, and he gave a different answer than had been given once before, if just as crushing. "I would never tell anyone not to have hope, old friend. Hope gives endurance through times of strife and trials; it brings inspiration and empathy to those touched by its vision for a better future. Hope is a powerful force to be reckoned with… But like any force in creation, it can't exist in some cosmic vacuum entirely on its own, and Hope is a fragile thing when its spark is not being kept properly banked by both Will and Love. When in its natural amorphous state and left alone, it gravitates on its own towards what it needs and creates the symbiotic exchanges with those forces who benefit from it and protect it from the forces of Evil that would smother it out because its nature is so abrasive to them.

"Magic has made Hope take form because we need more than just its passive influence; we need it pressing forward into places it would normally shy from to protect itself. But my sister is a newly formed god, and her divine existence is currently as fragile as the force she's tied to can be. The Three and Eros are lending my sister what Divine Love and Will they can as she continues to form her identity and strengthen her ties to her domain; but the time is swiftly approaching when they'll need to try containing the Queen of Evil to stop her. They're not going to be able to continue as they are; and there's already been a few close calls where, by either neglect or intent, she's almost been snuffed out…"

The young Champion's pace slowed as his quick mind started to put together what point the Lord of the Underworld was leading to. The border of Shiva-Tsal was just in sight up ahead; some of the over hundred boulders that rose up from the ground could be seen as they rounded a bend, narrow natural pillars that loomed up like silent wardens at this region's gateway to the Underworld.

"…If my sister is to maintain proper sentience until such time as she has grown strong enough to sustain herself, and if she is to have the energy she needs to spread her influence as far as it needs to reach out, she needs a Consort who can take the place of The Three. She needs a Consort who can make certain that even when darkness is surrounding her and trying to snuff out Her light, she does not forget who she is and the power at her command to push back. A Consort whose soul's fire is blazing at its purest state and has the endurance to sustain that fire for not only itself, but for her as well, for as long as she needs that aid to become fully self-sustaining…"

Rhuadhán had stopped walking again by the time Yama finished talking, feeling again like the blood was draining from his face and his stomach was in a freefall as he realized the paradox initially mentioned. "You're telling me that because of how I've pursued power throughout my lives, even when Hope itself is being offered to me, I can't claim it. If I was willing to trade my aim to take control of Time for claiming my role as Consort and concentrate my power on keeping Her alive, the Queen of Evil's plans will unfold as she plans because I won't have the power to sway things back in our favor and we're all likely destroyed in the process. If I push forward with becoming Master of Time, I will be able to stop Evil and save creation, but my reserves of power will be too exhausted from playing my part. If I try to claim the role of Consort for her, I wouldn't be able to fulfill my responsibility. So unless I wish to be remembered throughout all of History as either the one who chose love over duty and let the universe be destroyed for it, or the one who killed the embodiment of Hope, I have to sacrifice my right to Hope itself to claim dominion over Time and consign myself to an existence watching another have what I will never be able to claim…"

"Quite the predicament you've boxed yourself into, isn't it, Majikahla?" Yama's words held no pity for the other's plight.

The Champion shook his head in denial, falling into a deeper state of numb shock. "The Three wouldn't have made such a promise to me of having both if there wasn't some way to make it so with the right maneuvering… There must be something you're not telling me that can allow me to do both…"

"Are you truly so sure they wouldn't dangle that carrot in front of you if they were desperate enough to gain your cooperation and allow for Kali to be defeated, knowing full well they'd never have to cut the string and give it to you? That there's not the truly intended Consorts somewhere out there, not being kept ignorant of where my sister is and already fostering a connection to her for when she's ready to make her choice? That no matter how enraged you might be when you discover the deception, The Three might not be counting on you being as infamously cold and focused as you have been throughout your existence, trusting you'll make the choice that preserves yourself and subsequently allows them to have less ruthless contenders have the task of protecting their preciously fostered little spark of Hope?"

"There's many among the divine I'd expect, or at least not be surprised by, such tactics being employed, but not The Three," the mage-priest said, shaky voice not lending any strength to those words. "When The Three make a promise, they keep it."

"You've been told by others they made you a promise, but can you remember striking a deal with them before you reincarnated?" Yama asked, another flash of sharp teeth showing as a mocking smirk passed over his lips. "Have they ever explicitly confirmed that promise to you since your rebirth? Or have they simply never refuted what others have said, occasionally dropped enticing little whiffs of that carrot's scent to keep you chasing it, and only aided as needed towards the goal of you completing your quest to gain the power you need to protect this world and claim Time?"

"Now you want me to doubt my father, my mentors, and my best friend, along with my patrons, to believe what you say, without any shred of proof to back up these claims?" Rhuadhán asked, glaring at the quasi-god. "I don't know what delusions you're laboring under, but I am not that fickle to those I deem worthy of trusting."

"But are they truly worthy of your trust, old friend?" the Lord of the Underworld asked.

As the Champion went to unleash another sharp retort, a three-dimensional image appeared between them. A moving image, much like the one Magie had implanted into the right side of his Yule gift, with the subject depicted being The Daughter. And in this little snapshot of some moment captured, she was again scantily dressed and undulating.

But the sight wasn't one Rhuadhán found the least enticing this time because the woman he thought was his intended bride wasn't dancing, and she wasn't alone. The view was from above and one side, making it plain to see she was lying in a bed somewhere, white blouse unbuttoned and splayed open, a simple cotton bra all that was keeping her chest covered. One of her hands was clutching the edge of the pillow at her head; and the other was grasping at the bare svelte back of the man leaning over her, her delicate fingers partially obscured beneath his wavy brownish-auburn hair.

The interloper was propped up on one elbow, with his forearm up under her shoulder and hand having a hold of her braided hair to keep her head tilted back. From this angle, the man's face couldn't be seen, but he was clearly trailing kisses along her exposed neck and down her chest. One of his black jeans covered legs was wrapped over her leg closest to him, holding it pinned down so it couldn't get in the way of what his other hand was doing. That other hand had disappeared underneath the hiked up hem of the fluffy blue skirt she was wearing. And what that hand was quite obviously doing, even if it couldn't be properly seen, was the source of her writhing, as well as the moans of bliss that began emanating from the image a few seconds into it starting. After several seconds, silvery eyes opened and the hand on the pillow left its place to grab the back of the man's head and pull him in for an impassioned kiss. The image paused mid-kiss, and then restarted from the beginning.

Rhuadhán tore his gaze from it, leveling an infuriated glare on Yama. "This image isn't real!"

"Oh, I assure you, old friend, it's very real," the Lord of the Underworld said stoically, glacial voice just loud enough to be heard over the heated sounds coming from the image. "My sister has no idea what you've supposedly been promised, and she was given The Three's explicit consent to choose who she desires as Consort or Consorts."

The young Champion turned away from the lewd image with gritted teeth and began limping towards Shiva-Tsal. As he did, he bit out with barely restrained rage, "I don't know what sort of twisted game you or They are playing right now, but it doesn't matter... I can track the blighter down and apprise him of the monumentally bad idea it was to try stealing my wife."

"She's not your wife, Majikahla..." the quasi-god reminded him as he floated alongside and kept the image playing ahead of them.

"Yet," Rhuadhán snapped out, gaze fixated on the boulders ahead.

"You can't force her to choose you..."

"One night with me, and she's not going to remember whoever that rank amateur is..."

"Your technique might be more refined, but he offers her the truest forms of love and understanding and she can sense that whenever they're together..."

"You think I can't?! And turn that bloody thing off already!"

The image continued on as Yama's pitiless voice echoed back, "Not if she's not open to allowing someone else to make the attempt... She's deeply in love with him and already accepted his marriage proposal..."

"It's hard to get married if the groom can't make it to the wedding day because he came down with a sudden case of death..." Rhuadhán bit back a gasp of pain as he stumbled forward a couple steps, having stepped on another sharp rock and only managing to not fall to his trembling knees because of the near death grip he had on his staff to keep himself upright and regain his balance.

"Killing her beloved is hardly going to endear yourself to her..." the Lord of the Underworld pointed out without comment on the mortal's physical hardships.

"Oh, I can be subtle when I want... Especially once my powers are better restored, I'm sure I can make it look like a convincing mishap the poor chap had..."

"She's a Goddess with innate divinatory capabilities that are steadily growing. You don't think she won't be able to know what really happened?"

"Then I'll just need to take a little trip back through Time and beat the bastard to Her, now won't I?! And I told you, turn that bloody thing off!"

"You know how unstable Time is at this present section of its flow," Yama said with clear reproof.

More of the boulders at Shiva-Tsal could be seen; many with shirts, jackets, or sweaters arranged over them from pilgrims who left the clothes behind as their offerings. Packs of cigarettes, toys from younger pilgrims, small instruments, statuettes, and a sundry of other offerings could be seen scattered between the boulders and grouped up around others. And the closest end of the gargantuan, near thousand meter rock formation that formed the gateway itself, was coming into view.

"I am the Master of Time! I can shore it up and make sure it's stable enough to keep my counterpart from being hustled into choosing an inferior Consort!"

"You'd risk collapsing Time and potentially undermining Kali's defeat?"

"To keep that miscreant's hands off my wife, you bet your underworld's halls I would!"

"You've taken others to your bed. Don't you think it's hypocritical to want to deny her the same comforts?"

"I've not slept with anyone since I saw her bloody image! And She doesn't need to be settling for lesser comforts like I've been when I'm already here to take care of her needs!"

"But can you give her what she needs, Majikahla? What about what she needs from a Consort that you don't have the power to give her now and in the near future?"

"I will find a way to give Her whatever she needs!" The furious young Champion all but roared the words at the quasi-god. "There is absolutely nothing She could desire or need that I can't provide once I'm at the height of my power, and I will find a way to make do until then so she doesn't suffer! I have been willing to sacrifice my comforts, my personal life, my gods damned body even, to do as asked, but I'm not sacrificing my right to finally have someone who will be able to last through the ages with me! I will not allow that to be stolen from me!"

"You really may want to consider the advice of your former self, Majikahla, before you do something that can't be undone..."

"Bugger off with trying to stop me from claiming what's mine!" Rhuadhán said, continuing his implacable limping march forward. "Even if I said that, my past self was a bloody idiot! Hope _is_ the denial of reality, but that's not a negative thing! I'm not chasing the unattainable! What miserable existence others settle for living in, the hardships they accept as being par for the course, that's not reality! Not for me! I refuse to allow other people's perceptions define what's reality for me! I've had Hope that something better can be made if I sacrifice whatever it takes to gain the power to actually make a bloody difference that's lasting! And you know what? My will made that happen! I've become the Master of Magic and Time! I have power at my disposal that not even the bloody primordials can harness! I control the forces of reality and shape what reality is! I keep this fucking universe in check so the rest of you can keep on going about your existences in a reality that's better than it was before I choose to step in!"

They were now among the outer boulders and the Champion continued to rant at the deity, concentrating on his anger to give him the strength to keep putting one aching foot in front of the other.

"...I have made more than my share of sacrifices. I have more than given back to this bloody universe for the power I have scratched out for myself! So if I want to claim one thing as being purely for myself, I've earned that right and I will not have it stolen from me! If it comes down to it, I'll claim Time in full, personally beat The Destroyer into an eons long coma, adjust to Godhood further, and then pull my wife forward from a point before she met that little prick, spirit her off to a dimension within Time where no one can interfere with me coaxing her into making the right choice, and we won't leave until the vows are exchanged and I've put a set of Divine triplets in that belly to ensure my claims can't be undone! Once that's settled, I'll send Her back through Time to spots she's needed so things don't get buggered up and wait for her to rejoin me sans the lover. And for anyone who takes issue with me doing so, I'll tear their fucking essences apart before the first sentence of dissent is finished as a warning about what happens when someone tries to divert Time from the course It is set on taking! Now turn that vulgar image off, and open the damn gate so I can start my test, or your name is going at the top of the list of people to erase from existence for taking advantage of me being in a weakened state to fuck with me!"

The image was released, and the sounds disappeared. But instead of the rock face shifting to reveal the gate to the Underworld, magic came shooting out from the gateway and struck the Champion in the chest.

Searing pain enveloped Rhuadhán before he could react, causing his weary body to convulse and twist where he stood. Spasming hands lost their grip on the staff and he fell to his knees and hands as the magic coursed through him with an almost blinding level of agony. A strangled gasp tore its way from his throat as his arms gave out and he tumbled onto his side.

And then the magic was gone, leaving the Champion heaving ragged breaths and dazed mind unable to form any thoughts on what might have just happened to him.

The shadowy figure stepped in front of Rhuadhán and bent down to meet his gaze. The shadows rippled and shifted to his guise of Anubis, taking on a countenance similar to the Dark God's avatar of Set. Void gaze stared out, framed by darker cinnamon colored skin. Shadows-made-corporeal hair swayed around his face and down to the ground where he was crouched. The wesekh draped around his neck and over his shoulders was a simpler version of his Father's, silver and jet with a line of ankhs around the outer edge.

"Did you really think I'd let you take your test in a time and place of your choosing?" the Lord of the Underworld's voice reverberated out, elongated teeth flashing as he spoke. "Your test for Shiva-Tsal started the moment you woke up from my first spell..."

Rhuadhán blinked rapidly as he gave a pained groan, shaking hand going up to rub at his eyes. The hand halted in its course as he noticed something and stared at it in bafflement.

"…And it's fortunate for you that the sacrifice I wanted you to make wasn't the rights to my sister," Anubis said, mocking smirk forming. "Your test tonight was to see if you were willing to sacrifice your pride, and your self-delusions about why you've hardened your heart so deeply, to admit what truly brought you here and drove your mission to claim my sister as your wife. If you could put to words what Hope truly means to you and show cause for why you should be deemed the Consort to stand guard for her…" As the young Champion's sapphire gaze went back up to look at him, the deity said with smirk growing to a grin, "So congratulations, old friend. You passed your test, and you're one step closer to joining this family. I trust you'll forgive me for the ruse."

Rhuadhán gave another groan, this time of understanding, and wearily shoved himself up into a sitting position. "You're a right bastard..."

A sardonic laugh resounded from the Lord of the Underworld. "Comes with the domain, as you should well know, Majikahla." A clawed hand reached out and touched the ground. As it lifted a 15 centimeter long feather, crimson red with powdery black edges and a snowy white spine, manifested before the Champion. "I believe you're going to be needing that to make your ascent up to the mountain and claiming the Vajra from the Master of Kangri Rinpoche."

"Yeah, thanks for that, mate," Rhuadhán said wryly, taking up the feather of Ma'at and securing it away in a pouch. Once it was safely in his possession, he looked back up at the quasi-god. "So, about what you said before and that illusion. That was all some trick as part of the test?"

Another laugh from Anubis and he shook his head. "Oh no, old friend. I didn't ever lie to you…" He continued speaking without concern for the furious storm regathering on the Master of Time's face. "…However, I needed to crack those defenses of yours, and it takes something with equal force and hardness to break the nigh indestructible. You really are your own worst enemy and competition sometimes…"

Anger turned to confusion. "What are you on about?"

The Lord of the Underworld's expression remained faintly mocking in its amusement. "What did you think The Three had you off doing during those months of soul-questing, Majikahla? It's not time for you to claim my sister, but your past lives have far more karmic baggage than you realize that needs to be worked out, and who better than Hope herself to help put the past to peace to pave the way for a different future?"

"…So the blighter with his hands all over my wife was me?" Rhuadhán asked with eyebrows raising in surprise.

Anubis laughed again and gave a nod. "Yes. That was you, more or less."

The Champion thought on that revelation for some seconds. "But She doesn't know about the arrangement I have with The Three?"

The Lord of the Underworld shook his head. "No. That aspect of yourself was sent to her for the recovery it needs, and to aid her with a danger that was on the horizon, and they let things follow the natural course with you two. She became quite taken with you all on her own."

Rhuadhán processed that information, eyebrows lowering as he grabbed his staff and pulled it next to him. "…And I asked Her to marry me three years ago?"

Anubis nodded. "Yes."

"…And She said yes?"

Another nod. "Quite enthusiastically, I'm told."

"…And there's not some other bloke on the side since then?"

The Lord of the Underworld shook his head. "No. You've never been the type to share and she only has eyes for you, so she promised she'd wait for things to sort themselves as they need to and kept to that promise. She's missing you quite dearly, and looking forward to your wedding day and building a life together if we all survive this war."

The Champion hefted himself to his feet with the aid of his staff, exhausted beyond any previous means of reckoning, but a cheeky grin formed nonetheless. "Oh, we're surviving this, mate. I'm not resting until I get to consciously find out what your peach of a sister tastes like."

The fraternal look of disapproval from Anubis made Rhuadhán give a snort of laughter.

"Don't look at me like that, old friend," the young Champion said unrepentantly, turning to continue on his journey for the last, pure torture, incline of his hike. "You're the one who showed me that bit of softcore and gave me all the more fuel. I'm looking forward to finding out just what sort of noises She makes when it's the proper me in all my glory stoking her flames… Oh, son of a- now you're just being petty! Who needs enemies with friends like you?!"

The Lord of the Underworld's laughter, and an unconcerned "I'm sure you can handle me having a little brotherly sport, Majikahla", were the only responses the deity deigned to give as he started walking to the gate of his domain.

Rhuadhán grabbed a talisman off his belt to ward off the quartet of spectral, anthropomorphic canine-warriors that had suddenly shimmered into existence in a circle of about fifteen meters around him and were now marching in unison to close in. The sphere of protective energy was activated just in time to deflect simultaneous scimitar slashes meant for both his legs, chest and staff-holding arm.

The mage-priest stepped into a stream of Time to make a limping dash between two of the guardians and be able to safely start the near climb of a hike up the slope. There was only the faintest hint of the eastern sky lightening as the stars began fading for dawn. If he didn't stop to try banishing the spirits and stayed in Time, he could definitely reach Drölma Summit ahead of his dawn deadline, get Magie and the wolves to handle these attack dogs his future brother-in-law had set on him, and maybe even manage a sip of water before needing to cast his spell to ascend to the Kailash summit.

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A/N: 1- Deku and Dargon- thankies for the feedback! It is so very appreciated! 2- This chapter is a bit over 16k words, so I'm cutting it here to avoid a mega chapter.

3- For those who haven't studied Greek mythos, Eros (Cupid to the Romans) in their earliest depictions was the first of Gods who spawned the universe by bringing together the forces of creation via love. When the outside cult of Aphrodite, and her temples offering "sacred prostitutes", swept in, he was culturally demoted to a child of hers who had to do her bidding; and new creation myths that helped boost Zeus's status, which historically ended up being a major precursor to purely patriarchal One Gods in the Sky and factors into Abrahamic religions, replaced the original. I am correlating Paladine to the OG Eros in the Greek mythos, with his wife being Psyche (aka Soul). Y'all should be able to guess on the first try who was behind corrupting that mythos as it pertains to internal lore of this story.

4-On a side note, a friend sent me a copy of the Dragonlance musical (The Last Test/Trial) centered on Raistlin's godhood-seeking shenanigans that was done in Russia back in 2014/16 (I was sent the 2016 special performance) and had subtitles so I could understand what was being said. I made mention of it in the first installment, at the beginning of Book 2, but only in passing, and some of you may have otherwise heard of it or already seen it. I have been dying to see it for years, but didn't have the money to blow flying out to Russia to watch something I wouldn't be able to properly follow, and I couldn't find a recorded copy anywhere at the time I started writing the first installment. IT WAS FREAKING AMAZING! And if you haven't seen it, you should. Some plot points were noticeably off because they had to try to squeeze so much material into a two hour show and certain plots needed to be simplified to do so, but the actors are phenomenal and the music was PERFECT. I can easily forgive the plot issues because of the absolute love and passion for the story that clearly went into its creation. The spirits of characters were faithfully depicted, so many little nuances and details by the actors in gestures and expressions were just so very spot on; and with the opening of every new score I could tell just what scene was about to unfold because it was so very expressive. I spent almost the entire time watching it grinning like an idiot. And I've watched it half a dozen more times since the first. And had the soundtrack of some of Raistlin's rock-infused songs going in the background when my inspiration or mental stamina for this story is flagging. I can't say enough wonderful things about it. Few people can make a musical on par with Russian composers and actors, and these folks lived up to that legacy. SO WATCH IT IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY! Then tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter 5 One Golden Glimpse

A/N: I'm back! Apologies for the extended absence. My computer issues were more problematic than they seemed and I had to wrangle getting a replacement. I also had a small move across the city, and then there's been the Coronavirus making everything more problematic to get done and my son has been home and needing devices for online class work. I sincerely hope this finds all of you well and safe!

This chapter was initially only meant to be a little excerpt of seeing some stuff from Dalamar's side, and then following Rhuadhán for the remainder of his Test. But we haven't gotten much time with Dalamar so far, and inspiration was nudging to do a full "meanwhile... behind the scenes", so I did. I am not doing mega sized chapters, so it'll be the next chapter wrapping up Rhuadhán's Test with his ascent up Kangri Rinpoche and what happens when he comes face to face with the Master of the mountain. Enjoy, and please leave me some feedback. I'll be hard at work on the next chapter to help keep you folks entertained while I'm sure many of you are still stuck inside. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter out by the weekend.

Chapter 5

One Golden Glimpse

The Mongolian wolves had spent most of the time the Priest of the Three was gone waiting in their little huddle in the shadows of the rocky alcove they were taking shelter in from the brutal winds at the top of the Drölma summit. Knowing Rhuadhán the way they did, Bilguun had tried to send Altankhüü to keep an eye on him in case he got himself in too deep and was too stubborn to ask for aid. Bilguun couldn't rightly refuse a direct order from the potential Ariunkhan to be left to his Test on his own, so he had called his canine companion back to them.

That having failed to give them a way to keep an eye on his Shalafi, Dalamar took up a spot in a nearby alcove for semi-privacy to track him, promising he'd inform them if anything was going wrong. Once assured the druids wouldn't see him using blatant Krynn magic, they assumed he'd be astral projecting or using similar magic common to this world, he pulled a crystal orb from one of his deel's pockets and murmured the incantation to scry on his shalafi's progress. And, as expected, his master steadily worked his way past one obstacle or other; some of which he just had to go and make for himself, like the extra trouble on the Dolma-La descent to Gauri Kund. Rhuadhán's mouth being what it was at times, that was the other reason the dark elf didn't want the wolves in hearing range of the divination.

Dalamar shook his head and sighed in frustration every time his Shalafi taunted the Master of Kangri Rinpoche. With the history between those two, he wasn't sure why he had bothered to hope Rhuadhán might keep his silence for just 13 hours. The deeply spiritual Mongolians would have been extremely displeased to hear the disrespectful challenges being issued along the way, they weren't privy to certain information about his Shalafi, so it was probably for the best Altankhüü had been sent away. Despite the petty jabs at the Master of Kangri Rinpoche, Rhuadhán was at least staying focused on his work and making good time around the mountain.

With his limited view of the area around his shalafi, Dalamar wasn't aware something might be amiss with the Test's proceedings until Chuluuküü called out a warning over the storm just starting to reach them that the massive Drölma Do was suddenly cracking apart. The other four leapt to their feet for a better look and watched as the cubic rock formation splintered into three rectangular pieces, and grey stone shifted to hues of black, white, or red as sleet beat down on them. And then those pieces cracked into seven blocks each, and the blocks rippled and became semi-incorporeal wolves.

In less than twenty seconds, Drölma Do had become the Drölma Wolves. Those guardian wolves were like flashes of light speeding down the west hand side of the mountain, heading straight into the heart of the storm.

Batzorig was the one to call over, "Khunbish!"

Dalamar gave a strained smirk at the tribal name that was even more accurate than the Mongolian wolves knew, mind quickly trying to calculate out what the mystical happening meant for his master's Test. "What is it, Batzorig?"

"Did Nominchono cross the Dakinis at some point this evening?!"

Dalamar cursed under his breath, then called back, "Yes! Parvati and two others tried to tempt him off his mission over by Gauri Kund!"

"Where is Nominchono now?" Mönkbold asked, features pulling with concern.

"Somewhere in the Lha-Chu Valley," Dalamar replied after taking a few seconds to scan what little could be seen within the raging storm inside his viewing crystal. He muttered to himself, "What I wouldn't give for a larger scrying surface right about now..."

Mönkbold began saying something to his father.

Dalamar called over, echoing the sentiment Batzorig was interrupting his son to give. "The Drölma wolves will protect him from whatever Parvati might be trying. Let them do their job so Nominchono isn't disqualified from claiming his rightful title of Ariunkhan. I'm going to keep watching to see if I can spot what is happening, but trust that The Mother's servants are capable of dealing with that treacherous spirit or Lord Shiva's servants."

Mönkbold gave a nod and then retook his seat next to Bilguun, who gave him a single pat on the shoulder and said something by his ear Dalamar couldn't make out over the storm.

The dark elf's gaze went back to the scrying crystal as he likewise went back to sitting, and could see his shalafi had stopped walking and seemed to be staring out into the storm around him to try spotting something. "I don't know what Parvati or Maj…"

Dalamar's words cut off as he saw his master suddenly stiffen, face going blank with shock at whatever he saw, and then he was darting off in a Time stream from something. Dalamar didn't get a chance to see what that something was because the distortion of that particular force around the subject of his scrying caused the crystal's connection to his Shalafi's whereabouts to break off.

"Merde…" Dalamar said with a frustrated sigh, shoving the crystal back into his pocket. He had studied three different variations of that divination spell to try keeping an eye on his Shalafi, but this was the third damn time he had manipulated Time and broken off the scrying. His spellbook was enchanted to withstand the elements, but it was going to take him a minute or so to recommit one of the spells to memory; and if his master was running from something in Time, there was no point in immediately trying to cast it again, as it would only fail. Hopefully his Shalafi could stay ahead of whatever was sent after him until the Drölma wolves could reach him.

The dark elf gave another sigh and shook his head as he rifled through his bag for his spellbook. "It's bad enough you cuckold and otherwise prickle at him every chance you get… Not that I can really blame you, but this isn't helping matters, Shalafi…" Dalamar pulled out the spellbook and started flipping through the pages. "I don't know what in the Abyss you're running from, but you better watch your footing..."

Dalamar had the spell recommited to mind quickly enough, but as his master hadn't sent up a flair for aid yet, nor were they receiving some sign from The Three that the wolves needed help protecting him, he delayed on casting the scrying. If his master was still in the midst of handling whatever trouble he had gotten himself into and utilizing his Time magic to do so, the scrying would simply fail to work and it'd be a wasted effort. The dark elf instead spent the next five minutes studying the alternate versions of the spell to keep his mind occupied as he waited.

When that five minutes had passed and the spells had been reimprinted on his mind, however, and the preternaturally swift Drölma wolves still hadn't returned, Dalamar began to become concerned that something might be even more amiss than initially feared. He murmured the words to the first spell as he gazed into the crystal.

Light and shadows shifted and swirled in the crystal, and then the image of Rhuadhán appeared. His master was no longer manipulating Time... And his master looked in a far more injured state than he had just minutes before. He was sprawled out on the rocky shelf of the moraine and it seemed he was covered shoulder to toe in various injuries, some parts of his skin looked near flayed off. But, whatever had happened, Dalamar could also see his master was alive, and some of the Drölma wolves were surrounding him and tending to his injuries.

And despite the extent of his injuries, the Master of Time was, of all things, laughing. Dalamar's confusion was minorly answered as he heard his Shalafi saying to the red wolf by his head, sounding exhausted and bordering delirious, "...Oh, bloody hell, mate. Let me tell you, even when you know death's not a permanent end for you and the pain is ultimately a passing thing, the potential of being rended in a flurry of teeth and claws attached to a thousand kilo Godzilla tiger is going to get the ticker pumping. That was hair raising to try keeping ahead of..."

...So that's what had been sent after him for the rebuff of Parvarti's attempted diversion from his mission. A giant tiger was certainly a new spin on an old trick. Added to the gigantic conjured viper that had been sicced on his Shalafi, that was the second trap via extraordinary animals that they hadn't foreseen happening...

Rhuadhán's laughter suddenly stopped and Dalamar heard him demand of the wolves, "Wait, are you woofers allowed to be here? Or am I disqualified for your presence that wasn't by personally summoning or conjuring you and getting the first aid treatment?! I want the record to show I only requested inspiration, I did not ask for the rescue!"

Dalamar gave an incredulous snort of laughter at that. He didn't expect a different attitude from his Shalafi, even when he was apparently in over his head, but the Master of Magic's obstinency really knew no bounds sometimes. He didn't have the same worry over the impact of this incident on Rhuadhán's test, as clearly this was some sort of petty retribution and The Three's wolves were more than allowed to protect petitioners being unfairly targeted.

While the wolves were patching his master up with what healing magic they were capable of channeling, Dalamar was doing his best to calculate out just where his master was in Lha-Chu Valley and how much distance was left for him to cover. Those calculations were promising, provided Rhuadhán was able to get back on his feet and get moving again in the relatively near future. His training with the Rams and Wolves had adequately prepared him for the hike itself and he was making excellent time around the mountain. Unless the Master of Kangri Rinpoche pulled three or four more delaying stunts like this, Rhuadhán would likely be back up here with a couple hours to spare and be able to take a brief rest before attempting the spell to ascend the mountain. When asked, he passed along to the Mongolian wolves that he was able to catch sight of Nominchono again and that the Drölma wolves had reached him in time to protect him.

Eventually, the Drölma wolves had done what they could for the Master of Magic's injuries, and Rhuadhán managed to find his feet again. Dalamar watched him retrieve and talk to his new staff, and then gave an exasperated sigh as his master yet again shouted a challenge up at his opponent. "You prideful idiot... You've only got the barest of supplies and defensive spells prepared for tonight. Keep challenging him like that and you're going to end up with him siccing everything prowling these mountains on you. You're going to be hard pressed to defend yourself, wolves or no. Save the damned gloating for once you've ascended."

The dark elf shook his head again, and he watched in silence as his master continued his trek up the khora. The Drölma wolves returned to the summit just as Rhuadhán was resuming his own hike along the path.

By the time Rhuadhán reached Dirapuk Monastery and was murmuring to himself about his journey having been too quiet, Dalamar was thinking much the same to himself. He could feel his anxiousness growing as his Shalafi drew ever nearer to Shiva-Tsal, cataloging in his mind everything they knew about that entrance to the Underworld and the spirits local to it, and what his master had on hand to deal with such obstacles, trying to reassure himself that they had prepared for every known contingency. Those reassurances felt somewhat hollow, though, given the unexpected surprises so far.

Rhuadhán ended up noticing a magical presence within the river as he went to get a sip and, after failing to secure other means of getting a drink, continued on his way up the khora. While his master was limping along and scanning in front of himself for signs of danger, Dalamar was able to just make out, for the span of a second or two at a time, the hydrous form of a small water elemental shifting in the river behind. The creature shadowed his master's progress, but it couldn't leave the river and Rhuadhán was keeping enough distance from the edge that the creature didn't gain an opening to try grabbing him from behind.

Then Rhuadhán reached the bridge that lead into the Valley of the Dead. And, yet again, Dalamar's scrying spell was broken as his Shalafi tapped into Time and made a limping dash over the bridge.

Dalamar gave an irritated groan and glared at the now dormant crystal. "This is becoming absolutely tedious... Damn his Time manipulation and its effects on divinations... I wish I knew the mechanics of how in the Abyss he does that..."

Dalamar was currently, by his consciousness's state of reckoning, nearing eighteen thousand years of age, unbroken by death and the accompanying setbacks it entailed. When he had taken over his master's Tower, he had studied the spell books and notes of both Raistlin and Fistandantilius. He had expanded on both the latter's studies on necromancy and the former's on the nature of life and its preservation or creation, and managed to create his owns means of an unaging existence. That accomplishment had granted him seventeen and a half millennia of existence being spent in Krynn, mastering what offerings of magic it had that he was capable of understanding as civilizations ebbed and flowed with different ages of magical exploration.

And then, when Krynn had had absolutely nothing left to offer him and he was becoming utterly bored and frustrated with his existence, wondering if immortality had really been such a great idea; Nuitari had brought him to this world, and some precisely unknown number of ages forward in time. This fascinating world with all sorts of intriguing little offshoots of nature magics and wild magic. And, most pleasingly, a wonderful lack of squabbling mages with lifespans as fleeting as flies in comparison to his own, who inevitably made some foolish attempt to try dragging him into their petty politics for one reason or other. He had spent almost 500 years doing as he liked without anyone knowing who he was and what he was capable of; partaking in new entertainments as the people of this world thought them up if they struck his fancy, exploring the new magics and experimenting without being bothered.

Next to the Master of Magic, Dalamar could assure himself that he was the most powerful Archmage to ever exist, and he had been thoroughly enjoying his retirement...

But then relatively recent events had happened, and certain matters had been brought to his attention. His retirement, and his contentment with his accomplishments, had been brought to an abrupt end. And now he was stuck doing what he could to deal with that intrusion, and hopefully remedy certain deficiencies in his magical capabilities.

Deficiencies that were all too apparent these days because even with almost eighteen thousand years of existence, and all his magical proficiency over so many branches of magic garnered over that time, and spending the last three years observing firsthand his Shalafi's little episodes of bending Time- he _still _couldn't puzzle out even the basics of how his master was managing to interweave his magic and coax that tempestuous force into doing his bidding.

Despite his semi-incapacitated state from damages he had done to his soul in past lives, despite the current temporary limitations from having so recently reincarnated, Rhuadhán could _still_ casually manipulate Time the way the dark elf casually cast lesser spells. And the Master of Magic didn't even need to study spells to do so! He had to study old traditional spells the same as any mage, but for this type of magic he had crafted, he had found some loophole or some technique that allowed him to work his magic without the normal limitations imposed on mages applying. He stepped into the streams on a seeming whim or as need arose. It tired his body to do so for long periods of time, certainly; but he could do so without study in this lifetime to refresh his memory of past knowledge on Time, intuitively just _knowing_ how it all worked, and doing it as many times a day as he wanted, without warning he was about to do so, until his body reached its limits and he had to get some rest in.

It was absolutely maddening how simple the Master of Magic made it look. And it was maddening how effective his Time magic was at disrupting other types of magic, like these divinations. Granted, at the moment, his Shalafi wasn't trying to evade his guardians' abilities to track him down, it was just a side effect of him trying to slip past dangers of this Test. But the fact that he _could _do it so casually, that he could break even complex divinations cast by an Archmage of the dark elf's tier without even meaning to as an after effect of his Time magic...

It was a bitter pill for Dalamar to swallow. A reminder of just how far his solitary studies had managed to get him, but how lacking they were in certain respects. How lacking his personal capacity was in certain respects. Even if, when his Shalafi was restored, Raistlin deemed Dalamar had rendered enough faithful services to be taught some of that magic, Dalamar knew that there was a veritable chasm of difference between their magical capacities. He'd eagerly learn what he could, and practice it to become as adept as possible, but he knew he'd never come close to being that proficient at wielding Time magic and certain other specialties of his master. After all these millennia of studies, he had nearly reached the maximum of his potential, and he wasn't going to be able to break past it.

Try as he might, there was only one Master of Magic, and that wasn't himself. His Shalafi would always hold that highest accolade, and claim all the privileges that came with it.

Dalamar heaved a sigh at that depressing thought, pulling out a pinch of an herbal mix that was needed to cast one of the alternate divinations. Unless the water elemental had somehow managed to make a successful grab for Rhuadhán as he went over the bridge, which was highly unlikely given the average speed of those creatures due to their aqueous natures, his Shalafi had undoubtedly passed beyond the zone of threat offered by the river and stepped out of Time by now. It should be safe to cast the new divination and see how his master was approaching his travels through the Valley of the Dead.

The words Dalamar was about to speak were interrupted by another's, glacial and quiet, unfamiliar, coming from directly behind him. "Save your magic, dark elf; your master isn't in need of your services at this moment."

Dalamar spun around to face whoever had sneaked up on him, momentarily surprised by their capability to do so. A magical barrier that was not of his making rippled immediately around them as a void gaze met his, and all he could see in the narrow space within the alcove of rocks was shadow. Dalamar had never met this entity, but he knew who it was just the same, and he took a reactive, cautionary step back to put some distance between them as he said, "Lord Yama." His gaze stayed on the entity, but his magic carefully extended out to get a sense of the magic surrounding himself. The initial impression of the magical reverberations was some sort of sensory barrier; and then a few seconds later he had it puzzled out that the quasi-god had put up a complex illusion to keep the Mongolian wolves from knowing they suddenly had company.

There was an unnerving chuckle from the mass of shadows as Dalamar finished his cursory examination of the magical barrier, a chuckle that caused the fine hairs on the dark elf's arms to stand on end. "Well, it seems we can skip over the introductions as you know who I am, and I obviously know who you are..."

"Why are you here?" Dalamar asked. "You should be within Shiva-Tsal."

"Hm... Yes..." the Lord of the Underworld agreed, and there were flashes of pearly teeth amidst the shadows as he spoke. "Most nights, that is where I am. But tonight is obviously not most nights, as we find ourselves with distinguished guests visiting Kangri Rinpoche."

"If you're here to interfere with my master's attempt to ascend the mountain..."

Dalamar's warning was cut off. "You'd do what, dark elf?" Sardonic chuckles resumed, and then the quasi-god said, unconcerned, almost conversationally, "As it happens, I've only come up this way to inform you that your master injured his current vessel's workings a little more than he realized while trying to avoid Lord Shiva's enchanted tigers. The pain of a few broken ribs and the lingering effects of Gauri Kund were masking the pain of slow but persistent internal bleeding he's suffering from. I could sense that if he continued on at the pace he's been pushing himself, I'd quite likely be seeing my old friend in my halls in a way he was not meaning to be visiting tonight. I've insisted quite unarguably that he takes a rest, and that will allow his magic to concentrate on making the necessary repairs to those tears before they can grow any larger or he exhausts his reserves to the point where he won't be able to heal himself. When he awakens, which I judge to be safe to do in about half an hour, I will be personally escorting him along the Valley of the Dead so that he's assured to make it to at least Shiva-Tsal without further unsporting interference. Knowing Majikahla, once he's completed the Test at Shiva-Tsal, he's going to be making his way to rejoin you swiftly enough and you can see to your master's welfare when he arrives."

"You expect me to believe that you're extending such benevolent aid, with no tricks attached, and not keep watch myself?" Dalamar asked incredulously. "How foolish do you think me to be?"

"Answering that question properly would take most of the evening," the Lord of the Underworld said without attempt to hide the mockery he felt the question deserved. "Be that as it may, you'll view or not as you like. I'm simply informing you that it's not necessary to extend your magic in such fashion as your master is safe, and may need your magic for other purposes once he rejoins you."

"You'll excuse me, I'm sure, if I choose to verify that myself," Dalamar said dryly.

"As I said, you'll do as you like... But you should know, dark elf, that even if your master was in need of assistance, there's nothing you'd be able to do to help him until he finishes the khora and returns to you."

Dalamar held back a laugh of his own. "We'll see about that, should need arise."

The voice in the shadows replied stoically, "Arrogant you may be, dark elf, but you're not ignorant. I know you must have felt quite uncomfortable when you were coaching your master before he started his Test and you were standing so near the khora's boundaries."

Dalamar said dismissively, "It wasn't a pleasant sensation, but I'm used to certain sites being less than hospitable to one like myself. It wouldn't be the first time I've put myself through tolerating the abrasive nature of such places for my Shalafi's sake."

"You've never stepped foot on a site quite like this, dark elf. This isn't some petty temple that relies on imperfect mortal clerics channeling divine magic to protect it and the faithful that enter to seek guidance from the divine. Kangri Rinpoche is a holy place of the highest magnitude, guarding entrances to both my Realm and the Realm of the Gods. Every aspect of its construction and existence was crafted by The Three to magnify the sanctification magic and ensure those gateways' protection, and then Lord Shiva has personally laid down His own brand of protective wards on this mountain when He took up residence here to aid Them in Their fight against Kali. One such as you, who has so thoroughly pulled his current state of existence outside any reckoning of the natural orders, is incapable of stepping onto or past the sacred khora. Your motivations for attempting to do so won't matter should you try, and the favor you hold from your master or The Three won't protect you from the ancient magics lying dormant here. If you were to step within the bounds of this sacred place, or try to magic your way in, you will find yourself in the most eternally unpleasant of situations for attempting to bring your aberrant nature within. I give you warning because you are Majikahla's prized apprentice, even if he's currently not in full remembrance of his regard for you over the ages, and I don't wish to have to explain to my old friend what's become of you. I cannot force you to heed my warning, but you disregard it at your own peril."

Dalamar was silent for several seconds as he waited for the almost tangible sting of metaphorical salt being rubbed into fresh wounds to pass. Whether it was truly impossible for him to step foot within the boundaries of Kangri Rinpoche, or merely something that would be extraordinarily difficult and test the full strength of his will, it was another thing that his master could do with an ease that baffled the dark elf. He might be living an immortal existence outside what was "natural" for an elf, but his Shalafi was actively seeking to elevate above the existence he had been born to. And he might be a dark elf because he was especially fond of Nuitari's brand of magic, but his list of people he had tortured or murdered was minuscule compared to his master's. Yet, for some insane cosmic reason, Raistlin was able to traipse around the khora with almost the same ease as he trekked the Mongolian steppes, while Dalamar had indeed felt the holy magic trying to repel him off when he came within fifty feet of the boundary. It was maddening just how much he clearly had left to learn from his Shalafi.

When he was certain of his mental discipline, Dalamar said curtly, "Unless you have anything of import to say, perhaps you should see to your duties, Lord Yama. You've been lax of late and we wouldn't want another slip up to happen."

The quasi-god's voice was glacial as he said in rebuke, "You tread on precarious ground, dark elf. If _you_ had done your duties properly when you had the honor of that responsibility, Kali would not have been released and the Deceiver would not have had her aid in infiltrating my Realm to retrieve her servants."

A few short words of Sihir flew from the dark elf's lips as he made a swift gesture, and discordant anti-magic flashed out from one of his fingers like a bolt of crackling lightning. The quasi-god's shadowy form shifted as he raised his own magic to try blocking the attack, but the barrier was shattered before it could properly form and the discordant magic pierced through the shadows. A snarl of pain rippled out behind sharp teeth and bits of living shadow wavered out from the rest of the mass where the magic had hit, and then disappeared, like a mortal's blood leaking out into a river and being swept away. Void gaze narrowed on the dark elf, who now had an amulet in his other hand as the anti-magic crackled around the other three fingers of the first.

Dalamar's voice was just as frigid as he warned, "I've spent my entire existence treading precarious grounds, Yama, and you'd do well to remember you're not currently on holy ground. You may be counted as a god because you're one of my patron's special projects, but your power is limited to those He deemed necessary to fulfill your purpose for existence and is diminished when outside the Realm He's tied you to. My magic has no such narrow confines to it, and I've existed nearly twice as long as you have and perfected my arts. Unless you wish to join the list of divine constructs I've torn out of existence, giving Nuitari the opening to make a better Warden of the Dead now that he knows where your weaknesses in creation lie, you'll return to the boundaries of your domain and hold your tongue on whatever you may know of the Time that will never be."

A growl rippled out from the shadows at a frequency that even elven ears couldn't hear, only felt as a reverberation on the air. The shadowy form began to fade from sight, retreating back to a safer plane of existence, but the glacial voice warned quietly, "You might be one of my Father's highest favored, Dalamar; but someday, one way or other, your soul is going to find its way into my Realm. We'll see how confident you are in the superiority of your gifts from Him when the tables are reversed and you're in a place where your magic is dampened and it is my magic that is unfettered."

"Save your impotent threats for the weak willed and less talented. I've faced down beings far more terrifying than you on their native planes of existence, beings that had existed since the first age of creation; and yet here I still stand, while not even their names have escaped being cast into oblivion."

Laughter echoed from the shadows, previous reflections of pain absent from the sound, replaced by seemingly assured and malicious humor. "That might be your running record, but the universe always creates counterbalances for those that disrupt natural order. Even if you can cause me pain because my existence is still young, I know you can't destroy me like you have others of my nature. Your existence might stretch for some millennia more if the Destroyer's plans are diverted, but my existence will be counted by the eons. I will exist until the end of creation, unless Majikahla, The Three, or one of the Primordials end me. I can wait as long as it takes for your mortal soul to be delivered to me. And make no mistake, no matter what magic you have that you think cheats Death, _all_ mortal souls eventually find their way into the afterlife, and all the souls that belong to The Three come to my halls. You will eventually kneel before my throne, dark elf, and when that day finally comes, I'm going to weigh your soul. And given that the sacred Khora rejects you so soundly, I know how that verdict will officially fall. I'm going to enjoy passing judgment for your actions throughout this aberrant existence of yours, and making you pay for that strike you dealt me."

And with that, the Lord of the Underworld's presence vanished entirely, and the illusory barrier he had created dissipated.

Dalamar gave an irritated huff and glared at the empty space as he returned the amulet to its hidden pocket. The scrying crystal was pulled from its pocket once more, and he used a sprinkle of different flowers than the ones he initially meant to use, saying the words for the more powerful of his two remaining memorized divinations in case that damn quasi-god attempted to block his magic. He didn't feel any resistance to his spellcasting, and moments later the crystal was active.

He could see Rhuadhán's form lying prone on the ground, staff lying helter skelter next to him. His Shalafi was clearly unconscious, but he looked like he had dropped there, not gone to sleep. Dark eyes narrowed further, wondering just what had happened. Dalamar muttered a few words of magic, sending out the spell towards his master through the connection created by the divination. The diagnostic magic blanketed Rhuadhán evenly, and then began to shift and pulse, pulled towards where there were injuries or unnatural flows of magic. Within seconds, the magic was congregating in four particular places.

A pale green glow was coming from his master's feet, indicating some non life-threatening injuries were there, which was to be expected with the abuse they had been put through in trekking without footwear around the mountain. That light wasn't even dark enough to indicate the injuries had a risk of being crippling, especially given their nature. There was, however, the pair of lights to be seen in his master's torso, overlapping one another. One outlined a pair of cracked ribs with a darker, sickly green light. More worrisome, there was a rusty red light beneath, showing where blood was flowing but shouldn't be, and those weren't precisely small amounts pooled up. It might not be life threatening blood loss if his master's magic did start reactively repairing the damage, but Dalamar wasn't sure if that would actually happen because his master's healing capabilities weren't the least consistent right now.

And there was something else wrong with his master, something the quasi-god had failed to mention. There was an almost mustard yellow glow forming around Rhuadhán's eyes. That wasn't the shade of magic that would indicate one of his Shalafi's beneficial spells, like the one to see in the dark, was still somehow active despite his unconsciousness. That was distinctly the color that alerted of a curse being in place. Who had cursed his master, and what sort of curse had been placed on him?

As Dalamar consciously processed what his magical readout was telling him and debated what responses might be appropriate, he kept careful watch on the magical readings. Worrying as those things were, none of those readings were immediately life threatening. Unless his master had been struck blind with the curse, and unfortunately determining the precise nature of the curse wasn't something Dalamar could deduce from a distance and through a divination, there was still a chance that even in his current state of ill health, Rhuadhán might be able to regain consciousness and finish his journey around the khora in time. If there was a chance of completing this Test, no matter how remote the chances might fall to as more incidents kept happening, he knew that a preemptive intervention that robbed his master of that chance would put him squarely in the path of his master's wrath once recovered. If his master remained unconscious up until dawn, or dangerous wild animals or stray spirits appeared to attack him while incapacitated, or his master woke up and it became apparent that he had been struck blind and stood no chance of navigating the khora, then Dalamar knew he'd have no choice but to retrieve him.

At that point, his master would just have to accept that this first attempt had failed and they'd have to wait until next autumn when there was the right combination of weather, seasonal, and magical correspondents to make this ascent possible. Rhuadhán wouldn't like it, and it would be frustrating to have a delay in obtaining the Vajra and being able to figure out what secrets the artifact held. However, there'd be little to be done about it except to prepare all the more for the trek with the firsthand knowledge they now had, and be grateful Rhuadhán had at least already secured the staff this go around and so it was one less thing that'd need to be worried about on a second attempt.

Even if there was the possibility of a second chance, Dalamar was still hoping that Rhuadhán woke up soon and hadn't been struck blind. Not just because of the temper his master would be in if this failed. Nor because trying to counter curses that caused blindness were tricky and delicate spellworkings for mages or priestesses of this world alike. It was in significant part due to the fact that even if there was a possibility for a second chance at this, that was still a year of wasted time to wait for it. They knew their enemies weren't wasting time to gather resources and amass forces to throw into battle. Their enemies' influences were starting to pop up more frequently, and with a disturbing lack of clarity on how precisely they were spreading some of those influences. They judged that they were still some few years off from their enemies attempting full, undeniable and open, warfare to accomplish their aims; but all patterns they were tracking pointed to it being about the time when it would be wise to undertake preparatory tasks with what forces they might have- training skirmishes to test their battle readiness; or small strikes to obtain specific coveted resources that would help in the larger battles, but weren't so pivotal that it would draw wide spread notice and blow their secrecy before they were ready.

As seconds became minutes, the dark elf noticed the magical readings subtly shifting. The rusty light stopped expanding and was now beginning to shrink, as though the misplaced blood it was tracking was absorbing back into his master.

The Master of Time's magic was reacting as hoped now that it wasn't being consciously directed to other uses, working innately to turn back his body's inner reckoning of Time and injuries done to it, reversing the damage.

Dalamar breathed a sigh of relief. His Shalafi would be fine in short order. Providing the quasi-god spoke true when he said he was going to be returning to Rhuadhán's side and giving him an escort to Shiva-Tsal, and hoping that his master hadn't been struck blind by whatever curse was inflicted on him, this Test was still possible to be completed.

Dalamar settled back against a boulder in wait for his Shalafi to awaken. When asked for an update by Batzorig, he simply called back that Nominchono was still within the Valley of the Dead. Knowing Rhuadhán's pride, his master would be annoyed with him if he revealed the extent of injuries without pressing cause to.

Nearly half an hour after having entered the Valley of the Dead, and the magical readout showing that the blood loss had been completely reversed and those internal wounds healed, Dalamar saw his master stirring, heard his awakening groans.

Rhuadhán flipped onto his back and his eyes opened, staring straight up and almost directly at Dalamar from the vantage point of the crystal's viewing.

Through the crystal, Dalamar saw something he hadn't seen in nearly eighteen thousand years. Something that turned his blood to ice with the instinctual dread it inspired. Something that caused his concentration on his divination to falter and the magical connection broke, causing the crystal to become mercifully dark and inert.

The eyes that had opened hadn't been the sapphire blue of Rhuadhán Daye.

They had been golden with hourglass pupils.

Those had been Raistlin Majere's cursed eyes.

Eyes that saw nothing but death and decay. Eyes that almost never reflected a hint of the bearer's thoughts, even as they seemed to pierce through those being viewed, stripping back every layer of their being and uncovering their soul's deepest, darkest fears and secrets. Eyes that had stared down Death Knights that attempted to enter his Tower uninvited and made them stop their advance out of fear of the owner. Eyes that had coolly regarded demons that had been summoned into circles to do the Master of the Tower's bidding, as his new apprentice could only watch in silent terror, frozen in place by the creatures' unholy auras.

Golden eyes that had, for perhaps a moment, glinted with a hint of disappointed rebuke, as five long fingers had pressed to that young apprentice's chest and seared five wounds into his flesh.

Five wounds that, even eighteen thousand years later and every counter-curse he had uncovered or developed being cast, were still, perpetually, eternally, blistered and oozing on his pale chest. Five wounds that still ached faintly with every brush of fabric against them, that he had over time become accustomed to bearing, but could never forget. Five wounds that served as a reminder of the price of betrayal, and had been a "mercy" punishment because he had otherwise served his master as demanded. Five lingering cursed wounds that served as a reminder that even with as powerful of an Archmage as he had become over his eighteen thousand years, his Shalafi at a mere 28 years of age in his first incarnation had been even more powerful, and that Time did not diminish the potency of his magic.

Dalamar stared at the inactive crystal in shock as his free hand reactively went to the front of his deel, almost as though warding his chest from another such injury. His head shook in disbelief and he whispered into the night air, speaking in Sihir, "I don't know what game you're playing at, Majere... but the last thing you should be doing is antagonizing him in _that_ way. Yama wasn't in existence the last time my master bore that curse, but I was, and so were you, and you should know better. We are trying to avert certain histories from repeating and create a new future, but he'll gleefully destroy the whole lot of you if you don't reverse that curse, immediately. Don't be a fool just because he ruffled your pride."

The dark elf got no reply, directly or through magic.

Dalamar shook his head again, dread twisting and coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach, and put the crystal back into its pocket. He should be keeping an eye on his Shalafi. But the thought of seeing those cursed golden eyes again... The thought of seeing whatever Rhuadhán's reaction might be when he realized he was cursed... Dalamar decided he'd wait like the wolves were. Either his Shalafi was about to go on a rampage, which they'd undoubtedly see signs of from even here, and he might be powerless to stop; or Rhuadhán would keep it together and come up the khora at some point, hopefully with the Feather of Ma'at also obtained and that cursed gaze would be focused on completing the ritual of ascension.

Dalamar's arms wrapped tightly around his torso as he felt that ancient, instinctual dread rear up and taking such deep hold and he tried to regain his mental discipline. He had always known who Rhuadhán really was, guise of a modern young man of this world being worn or not, but the abrupt and undeniable reminder that the youth who was in turns carefree and curious or capricious and ruthless was indeed his Shalafi of old had shaken him.

It took far longer than the dark elf would ever admit for him to push back the fear those eyes inspired and remind himself that, golden eyes or sapphire, on Krynn or on Earth, he had sworn his allegiance and loyalty to his Shalafi as the price of being taught the secrets of magic by the greatest Archmage to ever live, and his master had fulfilled his side of the bargain beyond what Dalamar had thought was possible in his newly Tested youth.

Dealing with Raistlin Majere again, even were he at his most terrifying, was worth it for whatever new magic he would eventually learn.


	6. Chapter 6 Ascension or Bust

A/N: Heya folks! New computer is holding up. I've been pretty busy as my kiddo's school year (and having to do classwork at home) was wrapping up, but things are now falling into the more relaxed summer routine. I've also been a bit distracted with current events and their effects on friends and family, trying to provide emotional support and solidarity. I want to keep this story as much of a refuge/escapism for my readers as possible, I know life is sucking for a lot of us right now and fantastical sanctuaries can be needed, so I needed to take a little time off to ensure that happened. I've managed to spark back up creativity and get writing again. I've added to and edited this chapter quite a bit, trying to put something nebulous like magic into words is sometimes difficult to accomplish, and I'm already at work to wrap up this leg of Rhuadhán's story in next chapter. I know I said that this would be his last chapter, but instead of waiting even longer to get something out for you folks, I'm splitting things up at a comfortable point to do so. Next chapter is definitively his last, and then we'll be back to following Ria and her crew and Raistlin, for most of the rest of this installment. Which I'm itching to get to writing. If creativity holds out, I'll have the next chapter up by the end of the weekend or Monday.

Also, as usual when I yoink musical lyrics for these stories, credit to the original musicians. First song is obviously from the legendary band Queen, "A Kind of Magic". Second song is from The Score, song is called "Higher", with a minor modification to two lines to make it fully appropriate coming from Rhuadhán. I would strongly suggest that if you want the full benefit of the lyrics, maybe pull it up on youtube and give it a listen as you're reading the last scene. It's an awesome frigging song.

Let me know what you think, and maybe cheer me on a bit (hell, cheering a lot would be even better) to help me keep the newly revived creativity going. Hope all of you have a great weekend and are staying safe as summer kicks into full gear!

Chapter 6

Ascension or Bust

Approximately fifty minutes before dawn, with the eastern sky showing the first signs of lightening, Rhuadhán's success at passing the Test of Shiva-Tsal became apparent to those awaiting him at the Drölma summit. An energy that could only be the Master of Magic's could be sensed approaching at a speed that few outside of Rhuadhán could accomplish climbing up the treacherous slope.

Dalamar stared with confusion in the direction of his incoming Shalafi. With as much as Rhuadhán had needed to expend his magic so far to survive the dangers of the trek, his magical reserves should be becoming depleted and needing be conserved for the Ritual of Ascension. But his master was clearly surrounding himself with magic, and that magic radiated out as though there had been no such strains to it and he wasn't concerned with moderating it.

As Mönkbold likewise picked up on his friend's magic and let out a quiet triumphant cheer, the dark elf noticed something else. There were other magical signatures trailing his master, almost hidden by the force of Rhuadhán's magic.

Dalamar reached for his crystal to cast his scrying spell to discover what was shadowing his master and potentially needed to be intercepted, only to remember that his master was undoubtedly using his Time magic, again. The spell would fail if he tried. The dark elf left his rocky alcove and began walking parallel to the sacred khora in the direction his master was coming from, heading for an advantageous spot as they came up the slope. "Batzorig, Nominchono has company. It's undoubtedly spirits tailing him."

The wolves didn't need to be told anything more than that, leaping to their feet and pulling amulets from their belts in case there were too many for the other's magic to handle.

Rhuadhán's approach suddenly slowed, then came to a halt, and he was still out of sight. Small bursts of magic were released in rapid succession, and the outer auras of bright flashes of crystalline light or pulses of dark magic could be seen flaring and clashing in tandem.

A magical fight was clearly breaking out, but Dalamar wasn't able to get a better look at what was happening. He was at the edge of a ledge, with only the option of stepping onto the khora itself to have a passage down to his master or head up further and around the mountain slope, away from the action.

If his master was engaging in a fight with something, however, that meant he wasn't tapping into Time. He couldn't manage to do both at the same time yet. Dalamar had barely retrieved his crystal, however, when the exchanges of magical attacks ceased. Given that he could still sense his master's aura of magic radiating out, he had clearly been the victor in whatever just took place. Which was simultaneously a relief for Rhuadhán's survival and a concern for if that fight had been conducted in some way that might have gone against the rules for Kangri Rinpoche. Of course, if his master had reactively managed to cast some sort of magic that had killed an attacker and disqualified him, it was too late to do anything about it now.

Dalamar heard his Shalafi before he saw him. More precisely, he heard his master singing. And, as had been the case when they had reached Kangri Rinpoche 13 hours earlier, he wasn't singing a prayer or mantra.**  
**

"...One dream, one soul  
One prize, one goal..."

Dalamar groaned in aggravation as he registered what the breathless, mocking, exhilarated words were... His Shalafi was an absolute Prima Donna.

Rhuadhán's singing continued, even as another flash of crystalline magic went off.

"...One golden glance of what should be..."

The aura of the crystalline magic felt like some sort of warding magic, but Dalamar knew it wasn't one of the spells Rhuadhán had stored in one of his amulets.

"...It's a kind of magic..."

Rhuadhán's taunting laughter could be clearly heard for a few seconds... And then guttural, bestial growls from something rumbled out in response.

That warding magic wasn't something Dalamar could immediately identify. What in the Abyss was his Shalafi casting? And what was he casting it at? And why was he seeming so lackadaisical about it?!

"...One shaft of light that shows the way.  
No mortal man can win this day..."

His Shalafi finally came up and around the side of the mountain enough for Dalamar to see him, staff in one hand and digging into the snowy, rocky ground, the other hand grabbing whatever was available to pull himself up onto the last false summit. Rhuadhán looked quite disheveled, and it was clear from even some hundred meters off that he was having difficulties putting weight on his feet. And even still, the Master of Magic was continuing to sing.

"...It's a kind of magic...

The bell that rings inside your mind..."

And then Dalamar saw the symbols on the Staff of Milarepa ignite with the crystalline warding magic and send a pulse out towards whatever was pursuing his master but not yet in sight.

"...Is challenging the doors of Time..."

Rhuadhán found his footing on the tiny flat stretch of the false summit and glanced back over his shoulder as he pulled himself to stand up straight with the staff. Unconcerned by whatever he apparently saw in pursuit, his gaze, which had returned at some point to its normal hue of sapphire, turned forward to scan the path to make his next climb. He caught sight of his mentor and gave a cheeky grin. "Incoming Hound of Anubis, Magie! And this last one's a persistent mad lad! He's not an official part of the test, so feel free to blast him!"

"Stop fooling around and get up here!" Dalamar snapped down at him, gaze darting towards the aura coming up behind his master. The magic was all too familiar, resonating as a darkness that sucked in the light around it and gave none back.

Dalamar didn't need acute elven sight to know Rhuadhán rolled his eyes at that order, and his young master yelled back, "In case you didn't notice, I'm working on that! _Dahareslin_ has my back 'til I get up there!"

The dark elf's eyebrows flew together in confusion. "_Dahareslin?_"

Rhuadhán started picking out his path up the steep incline, but called back with laughter in his voice, "The staff!"

Dalamar stared down at his master, aghast, barely noticing the hulking, armored form coming into sight behind his master. "You renamed the staff 'Ruby Peach'?!"

Rhuadhán's laughter was unrepentant and he called back, "She seems to like it!"

As if to affirm the Master of Magic's statement, the staff let out another flare of magic. A shield briefly formed to block the bolt of negative energy the Warrior of Anubis sent flying like a spear at Rhuadhán's back.

As the magical spear shattered and dissipated, Rhuadhán went back to singing as he struggled up the path.

"...The waiting seems eternity.  
The day will dawn of sanity..."

Dalamar shook his head in exasperation and heaved a sigh, something he did far too often these days, as he pulled a gilded jet amulet in the shape of an ankh from his belt. Dark eyes tracked the spectral figure as it tried to gain ground on his master, but kept being blasted back several paces by the amla staff in the Master of Magic's possession.

"...Is this a kind of magic?  
There can be only one...

...This rage that lasts a thousand years  
Will soon be done...

...This flame that burns inside of me...

...I'm hearing secret harmonies..."

Rhuadhán was nearly level with him, about six meters away, when the hound was finally in range.

Swift words in Sihir were spoken as the amulet was raised, words that finally drew the specter's attention from its singing quarry and to the figure outside the sacred khora and initially out of sight. The inky maw of the canine warrior opened with a renewed snarl that echoed across the space between them, and spears rippled into existence in both of its clawed hands.

Magical projectiles were launched one after the other at the dark elf; each bolt of negative energy carrying with it the potential to utterly suck out the life force of an entity struck.

Dalamar calmly shifted out of the way, chanting uninterrupted as he stepped to the left to avoid the first and then ducked his head to avoid the second.

Jet amulet was deftly launched at the hound and the magic now imbuing it sent it flying with unerring accuracy for the beast. Before the specter could decide what to do, the ankh collided with its chest and burst like the stone was no more substantial than a soap bubble.

The moment after the indigo hued magic came into contact with the hound, the specter disappeared from where it stood, banished back to the Underworld, without time to issue so much as a snarl of protest.

Rhuadhán paused his ascent, about fifty meters from Drölma Rock and the path beginning to level out, to look over his shoulder. His grin widened upon seeing the danger removed and then turned his sapphire gaze to his mentor. "Thanks, Magie!"

Dalamar pointed ahead. "Thank me by getting yourself past Drölma Do before something else pops up to try stopping you!" He could clearly see the eyeroll from his Shalafi this time, but Rhuadhán did as ordered. At the pained pace his master was capable of hiking at, Dalamar was able to circle around and have about a minute of waiting with the wolves before his master finished his ascent and limped past the massive marker of Drölma Rock.

As the young Champion stepped off the sacred khora, he said, "Bloody hell! That was a trek! How am I doing on time?"

Dalamar discreetly conjured one of his watches onto his wrist under his deel's sleeve and then pulled back the sleeve to glance at it. "You have thirty-two minutes and some twenty odd seconds until the first ray of sun hits this summit."

Rhuadhán let out a celebratory whoop and stumbled forward to receive congratulations from their companions.

"You have everything you need?" Dalamar asked, raising his voice to be heard over the exchange his master and Mönkbold were having as they clapped each other on the back.

"Yes, Magie," Rhuadhán drawled out. His free hand went into one pouch and he withdrew the large tri-colored feather, and then gestured to a laden pouch. "Water from the Lake of Compassion, my new favorite artifact- the dear _Dahareslin_, and the Feather of Ma'at. All set to go for dawn." As he put the feather back in its pouch for safekeeping, he added, "Think a bloke could spare ten minutes to rest his bleeding feet?"

Dalamar nodded and said with mild reprimand, "And your magic. There's no need to keep it radiating out like you are."

Rhuadhán laughed, plopping himself down where he stood and letting the staff lay across his lap. "Maybe not, but I can't dial it down at the moment. That last stretch after Shiva-Tsal? I can see why they call it The Path of Rebirth and say that it seems as though completing the khora removes a lifetime's worth of sins from a soul. That stretch positively resonates with latent magic of The Three and is like taking a great big hit of cosmic cocaine." The Master of Magic gave another laugh, but winced as he shifted his leg and took a look at the sole of one of his bruised and lacerated feet. "Oh, that's going to be some scars, salve or not... Bugger me sideways."

"You'll survive without being crippled for it," Dalamar said dispassionately, evaluating the damage from where he stood.

"Right ray of empathy, as always," Rhuadhán said with a huff. He looked over to Batzorig and asked in Mongolian, "Am I allowed to bandage my feet now? Or do I have to wait until after my ascent and coming back down?"

Batzorig thought on that a few seconds, and then his massive shoulders gave a shrug. "I cannot recall anything being said specifically about that, Nominchono. I would not chance it until after, as you may have completed the khora, but haven't been granted the Vajra yet."

"I thought you might say that," Rhuadhán said with resignation. "I can bear this a bit longer then."

"How are you feeling otherwise?" Dalamar asked. "Outside of whatever temporary high you're apparently enjoying at the moment?"

Rhuadhán considered the question, attention turning inward to catalogue his various injuries. He eventually said, "I'll survive. A bit banged up, but nothing that won't heal with a few days of proper rest..." He then asked, impish grin forming, "Hey, Magie? Can I borrow that watch for a few minutes?"

"You want to borrow my watch?" Dalamar asked, glancing down at it and then back to his master.

Rhuadhán gave a nod, grin widening. "Had a thought that'll help me keep my mind off my feet and on my goal, and I want to get the timing just right."

Dalamar asked with a hint of suspicion, switching to Sihir so the wolves wouldn't understand what was being said, "Just what are you planning, little master?"

"Nothing you need worry about," Rhuadhán replied, likewise in Sihir. "Let me borrow your wrist clock." This time, there was no mistaking it for a request.

Dalamar sighed as he began to unlatch his watch. "Are you planning something else to annoy Majere?"

Rhuadhán shook his head and said, a little too smoothly, "Of course not. I'm just going to make sure my ascent goes smoothly and with some style."

"You need to be concerned with performing the ritual correctly so the Rainbow Bridge forms and you make it safely over."

"It's going to form when I order it to form," Rhuadhán stated dismissively, accepting the watch from his mentor. "There is nothing he can do to stop me from coming up that mountain and claiming what's rightfully mine."

"Would you please attempt to not provoke him any further?" Dalamar asked with more than a hint of frustration leaking out. "Just for one exchange? This ritual is going to be difficult enough for you as it is. The Diamond Vessel might be yours to claim, but you have to reach it first and he can make things far more difficult than they otherwise would be."

"My very existence is enough to provoke him," Rhuadhán countered bluntly. "I'm not going to bow to his will, like some beaten dog hoping to get an accepting pat on the head from its abusive owner. He might possess the Diamond Vessel, but The Three only left it to him for safekeeping until I returned to this world. I've reincarnated, and now I'm going up that mountain. He's going to hand it, and anything connected to it, over and then stay out of my way." Interrupting what his mentor was about to say, he ordered in English, "I'm going to need to start preparing for the ascent up the Bifrost in just a few minutes. Give me some silence to relax and regroup while I can."

Dalamar gave a small bow to that order. "As you say, Master."

Rhuadhán cast an annoyed glance his way for the sarcasm, then sighed and went into a silent meditation with his gaze focused on the ticking second hand of the watch.

Dalamar fell into silence as well, mindful of what yet awaited his master. Rhuadhán had managed to make it around the khora and collect everything needed to make this attempt, but the potentially hardest part was about to be undertaken.

To ascend to the top of Kangri Rinpoche, one had to possess a clear sense of their truest self and a strong command of magic, which they knew Rhuadhán had on both accounts more than most; but they also had to possess a soul that resonated with a high enough divine purpose, sufficiently unburdened by the weight of sin and karmic dissonance.

If a petitioner was blatantly unworthy in the latter regard, they'd find themselves failing to be able to properly transmute the potion made of the ingredients gathered. If they were teetering on the cusp of worthiness, they might be able, with enough force of will, to make the potion take form. The Master of Magic's soul was in a somewhat damaged state due to the experiments he had put himself through in his previous attempts to ascend to godhood, and with having his entire first incarnation obliterated from his soul's memory to keep him from going apocalyptic again. They were hoping that his attempts to fix some of those damages, both between the attempts at reaching godhood and particularly during this incarnation, had made sufficient enough progress. As for the weight of karmic baggage from his many questionable actions, which could cling to his soul and create discordant vibrations that could render the potion useless... Well, Dalamar didn't have a clear idea on how exactly that was calculated, but he was considerably concerned that it might be the biggest monkey wrench in their plans.

The fact that Rhuadhán had managed to traverse the khora as he had seemed to indicate that he had made significant strides towards both of those goals, but given just how much damage and baggage someone like him had, it remained to be seen if those strides were enough.

Because even if the potion was successfully transmuted, then came drinking the potion. And those who drank the potion were subjected to a test of self-discipline and inner awareness as they opened themselves up as a channel for the magic needed to summon the Rainbow Bridge and cross the threshold into the outer plane of the Realm of the Gods. If one couldn't maintain their focus during whatever magical psychedelic trip that was, they would find their souls detaching from their body and being swallowed up by the magic they were channeling. Which would result in either ending up on any number of planes of existence as the magic went wild, or their soul being torn apart beyond any but the more powerful of gods' capability to constitute.

Given that Rhuadhán was the Master of Magic, an Archmage without peer and an accomplished High Priest of The Three, even if this incarnation was young, they weren't so worried about him losing control. He had opened up similar sorts of bridges between a multitude of Realms on numerous occasions.

However, even if he could theoretically control that volume of magic with its disorienting effects, this particular method of planar crossing wasn't some variation of tearing a hole through to another Realm through sheer force of will and Arcane power, as the Master of Magic usually did. This particular ritual required attuning oneself to that other Realm and passively slipping into it in a state that was compatible enough with it to not be reactively ejected as a foreign entity. None of the mages overseeing the Master of Time's current training were quite sure what that actually entailed in practice, having never personally traversed the Realm of the Gods and not having any formal training in "divine" magics. Even Lemuel, with all his time spent learning mystic practices of this world that the monks practiced, hadn't experienced such a feat, nor seen another perform it. Solinari's High Priests said that it was a ritual that built off the theories of astral projection, but went several steps further to transport both body and soul, and to a location outside of their own world. But, like Lemuel, those High Priests didn't have any firsthand experiences or observations to relate, only having a few scattered accounts passed down from when a few ancients like Milarepa had undertaken some form of this ritual.

Rhuadhán was undertaking this endeavor with only educated guesses as to what affect it might have on him, an admittedly fuzzy idea of how he needed to channel the magic to accomplish what was intended, and with less than ideal conditions because of the current state of his soul. The hope was that his intuitive understanding of magic would fill in whatever gaps their theories had once the ritual was in progress, that he would be able to observe and evaluate the effects firsthand and then have a full understanding of how to properly direct the magic as needed, and that his strength of will would allow him to suppress whatever discordant energy his soul might be carrying so he wasn't denied entrance at the point of entry into the Realm of the Gods.

And now, on top of trying to undertake such a risky endeavor, Rhuadhán was apparently wanting to add some last minute element to the mix of factors for "style". Something that he could see his master was calculating while meditating, tapping a hand to the staff he had up and decided to rebrand from the name it had carried the last millennia since its creation. And because he was the Master of Magic and had willed for the staff to carry that new name, it had been so. The staff had apparently accepted its new name and now the artifact actively worked its previously dormant magics towards protecting its new owner. Just like that. As though such an extraordinary feat was no different than the mundane purchasing of a new car and giving it a nickname.

Dalamar held back a sigh, wondering if his master was going to be able to command the Bifrost that easily, or if he was going to end up trying to explain gruesome details of a critical mishap that ended his Shalafi's latest incarnation to Antimodes and Horkin. Unpleasant as that would be, and devastating to their plans with the looming conflicts against Takhisis, the dark elf wasn't about to engage in an argument with his Master just before said master needed to undertake the ritual. If such an argument didn't outright ruin his concentration for the ritual and cause him to miss his opening, or cause distracted thoughts during the ritual and subsequent harm ensuing, it would still be an incident that his Shalafi was likely to tuck away in his mind and eventually be given some sort of retribution for.

Dalamar was willing to push and challenge his Master on issues he was certain he'd be vindicated on when his Shalafi was working with his full faculties and a matured mentality, but he had the feeling this wasn't one of those issues. Raistlin hated being told how to work his magic by those he deemed lesser in knowledge, which was everyone outside of The Three... and, in certain instances, even those deities weren't excluded.

No, it was far better for his survival and well-being to just let Rhuadhán have his way on this. If he screwed this ritual up by getting too cocky and doing something counterproductive, he'd probably survive, or at the very least his soul would, and he'd have no one to blame for the failure but himself.

.

.

.

Fifteen minutes before dawn broke over the summit, Rhuadhán snapped himself out of his meditations and hefted himself to his feet. The wolves briefly wished him luck and then stepped back off to one side. Magie silently pulled a bowl from the supply bag and handed it over; a bowl made of lapis lazuli, almost half a meter wide and only three millimetres thick, and so shallow one might almost consider it a deeply set plate.

The Master of Magic limped over to the spot he needed to be next to Drölma Do and set the lapis bowl on top of it. The large ivory vial containing the sacred waters from Gauri Kund was next pulled and the contents slowly poured into the bowl as words of Sihir were recited. The green tinged water took on a faint emerald glow as it answered the call of magic. Chanting new words, in a repeating pattern with differing inflections for each pass, he once more removed the Feather of Ma'at from its pouch. He could feel the feather from that ancient creature vibrating as his magic infused it.

When the Feather of Ma'at vibrated at the same frequency as his magic, Rhuadhán let the feather drop into the bowl of water, continuing his chanting. The Feather of Ma'at touched down on the water and floated on top, instead of being immediately weighed down by whatever karmic baggage his soul carried, which was promising.

The emerald glow from the sacred waters intensified as it came into contact with that enchanted feather. The magic of the waters spread up along the vane of the feather, swiftly washing out its natural black and red coloring and making it shimmer with a multitude of emerald hues. And then, as the mage-priest continued chanting, the Feather of Ma'at seemingly disintegrated, becoming one with the waters of Gauri Kund. There was a flash of emerald light, and then the waters subsided back to a quiet hum of magic.

A vindicated smirk curled on Rhuadhán's lips as his chanting came to a close. Grasping his staff in one hand, he lifted the bowl to his lips with the other. Drinking down the enchanted brew in a few gulps, the Master of Magic felt refreshing pulses of magic flood through his veins, and in its wake was a feeling that was almost impossible to quantify because of the seemingly contradictory nature of it.

It was a sense of lightness, as though he was as insubstantial as the air one breathed or a ray of sunshine like those just minutes away from being shone. And yet, at the same time, he felt all too corporeal and grounded as he became rapidly aware of the ground beneath his feet, and the features of the mountain around him- from the individual flakes of newly fallen snow piled up on the ground, to the ancient rocks that laid beneath them, to the even more ancient layers of undisturbed dirt and stone delving deeper and deeper into the Earth and up into the peak of Kangri Rinpoche. He could feel the pains in his body, but as a distant thing. He could feel the anticipation of some crows as they awakened for the day and took flight in search of breakfast. He could sense the excitement from Mönkbold as his friend sensed and saw the higher magics being performed. He could sense one of the domesticated yaks slumbering down the mountain in an encampment shift uncomfortably as its mate leaned against it while also slumbering. He could feel the collective surging hope of the wolves, as they likewise bore witness to each step of the ritual being completed, that the Ariunkhan had finally come forth to help turn the coming war in their favor. He was racing alongside a colony of ants as they scurried about to bring bits of late autumn seeds and flowers into their stockpile for the coming winter. He was feeling each of the heavy sighs Magie made as his mentor waited and watched in stoic silence.

He was everywhere and nowhere, everything and nothing. It was all connected by the forces that made up existence, infinite little pieces in the great cosmic machine. An impossibly complex interweaving of the strands of Soul and Life and Magic and Death and Time and Consciousness, ebbing and flowing both within each minuscule facet and with each other, with no two creations quite like the other, even of its own kind, and ever changing in itself as the various forces of the universe affected them.

It took every bit of his rapidly fraying concentration, but Rhuadhán recognized the danger of allowing himself to get lost in the feeling he was being inundated with, of allowing his analytical mind to try to catalogue and make sense of it all. He didn't have the time to be pondering the mysteries of life, nor could he risk losing his grasp on his awareness of his personal existence. He turned his attention to his staff, to tightening his grip on it and focusing his awareness on the feel of his fingers applying pressure to the warm amla wood to help stay in control of the magic coursing through him. He focused on his personal flow of magic, his own body's natural rhythms, the subtle pulses of magic imbued into his staff. The feelings and sensations caused by the ritual were ever present, but they began to fade to the background of his mind like a subdued buzz of white noise.

Once assured he wasn't about to lose his grip on his active consciousness, Rhuadhán sluggishly slipped his hand into the pouch he had placed Magie's watch in and pulled it back out. The golden second hand was ticking away at its normal pace, but it felt like it was both moving too fast and too slow. The Master of Time knew it was just the magic temporarily skewing his perception and continued concentrating on the second hand, making his mind focus on it until his breathing was keeping a steady pace according to the intervals counted. When he was assured of that stability, he worked to make sense of the actual time being told by the clockwork piece, and then made himself do the math of when dawn was, steadily drawing back in his focus to tighter control.

That accomplished, and with just under six minutes left before his ascent, Rhuadhán turned his gaze towards the summit. He was physically next to the great Drölma Rock, but he needed to be up there. It normally seemed such an imposing distance, yet it almost felt like he could reach out and scoop up some of the snow blanketing the pristine summit. He could almost feel the icy flakes beneath his aching feet, hear their crunch as he walked atop them, making his mark on the untouched snow. But reaching the snowy top of the summit wasn't his true destination.

He needed to go beyond that physical place. There was a place atop the summit, invisible to the mortal eye and most aided means of viewing. A place that wasn't a place like any known to mankind. A place he could now sense and see; both as a distant glimmer of magic across the chasm of space between where he stood on Drölma summit and where it resided atop Kangri Rinpoche, and as a swirling vortex of power that had a pull akin to gravity and seemed so near that it couldn't help but draw him in if he wasn't anchored down. It was a doorway that resonated with an energy that was like a beacon of serenity and power, calling those who could sense it to come home and take refuge in its sanctuary. That was where he needed to be. That was where he needed the Rainbow Bridge to connect to so he could cross into the Realm of the Gods. A Realm that he knew he had every right to set forth into, to claim what was his by rights and merit.

All he had to do was will the bridge to take form, for the magic swirling around him to carry him up there, and he'd have a major victory towards the goal he had spent his existence working towards. There was no proper incantation to direct the magic into crafting the bridge, however, because each and every being resonated differently than the next and needed a unique vibration of magic to transport them. Their own signature of existence keyed into the magics of the Rainbow Bridge. The same signature of being that he had infused the Feather of Ma'at with, that had set this magic into motion. He knew who he was- the Master of Magic, by virtue of his patrons' blessings and his innate skill at wielding Magic; and he was Majikahla, the Master of Time, by rights of his taming and partnership with that tempestuous primordial force of Creation. He knew what he was capable of. He was capable of anything he had the ability to imagine because he commanded the very forces of reality and bent them to his will. Magic and Time were his to command, and they were connected to everything that had ever existed in Creation, and all the needed magic to form the Rainbow Bridge was around him at this particular point in Time.

Rhuadhán called up words of another kind to mind to keep his concentration focused on his goal. It was a shame that so few people were present to witness what he was about to do; he almost hoped Anubis coerced Milarepa and Naro Bönchung into watching this from whatever spot in the Underworld they were currently residing in. He was taking a page out of his favorite Not-So-Silent Prophets' book and sending out a message that couldn't be ignored by those it was meant to reach.

He was Majikahla- Master of Time, Master of Magic; and he was going to give that old guilt-ridden monk-priest and drum-beating, death-worshipping cultist, as well as the hypocritical bastard and his posse of sentient sex toys currently at the top of the mountain, and all those who might someday come after and hear legends of this fateful morning, a lesson on how to make a memorable ascension up Kangri Rinpoche and claim a mantle of power.

.

.

.

Dalamar watched with a keen interest as his Shalafi prepared to undertake the Ritual of Ascension. Upon drinking down the sacred brew, that aura of magic that had been steadily emanating from the Master of Time started to pulse and fluctuate wildly. There were momentary sparks of glimmering eldritch light around him, a flash here and there of almost tendril-like ethereal formations stretching out from his body. A shift in his energy that even the wolves were able to notice, given the quiet murmurs of surprise coming from the group behind the dark elf.

As Rhuadhán concentrated on his breathing exercises, the magic around him began to stabilize. The pulses of magic settled into a just visible golden haze around him, bathing his skin in a metallic sheen that was duller than the permanent magical infusion Dalamar remembered from so long ago. Rhuadhan's long fingers began tapping out a beat on the staff's wood, the same beat he had been working on while taking his short rest.

Dalamar nervously turned his gaze to the east, where dawn was blossoming in a riot of crimson and azure and citrine across the sky. His Shalafi was keeping control of his magic for the moment, but he needed to get working on actually using it. They had perhaps three minutes left before the sun actually broke the horizon and cast its first rays on the Drölma summit. He wasn't sure just what his master was planning, but he was cutting this far too close for comfort.

Then Rhuadhán glanced his way and, free hand still tapping, a deft toss sent Dalamar's watch sailing through the air back to him. Sapphire gaze was trained back on Kangri Rinpoche before the watch was caught, and the Master of Time shifted his stance, bracing himself with his amla staff, orienting himself towards the summit a few more degrees.

Tapping on staff with agile fingers became tapping the butt of the staff to the ground.

Dalamar glanced at his watch, and he saw there was only two minutes and twenty-eight seconds left before daybreak. Dark gaze turned back up to his Shalafi. Rhuadhán was continuing his drumming, almost looking lost in a trance. Was he going to keep drumming right up to, or past dawn, lost in trying to control his magic?

Just as the dark elf's mouth was opening to call a quiet warning to his Shalafi that the threshold for ascension was nearly on them, Rhuadhán began to sing a new song, a song Dalamar hadn't heard before, voice resolute and defiant, keeping time with the percussion of his staff-

"I've been up, I've been down  
Seen the world from the ground  
But I hear the drumming  
Now my veins are pumping..."

The ambient magic around Rhuadhán began swirling around him in a vortex, wavering and shimmering like a heat wave in the muted pre-dawn lighting on the summit.

"...Scraped my knees, bruised my heart  
Where you end is not where you start  
Resistance is crumbling  
Cause you know I'm coming..."

With every passing second, as The Master of Magic's voice was pitched and echoing up towards Kangri Rinpoche's summit, the whirlwind of magic around him picked up in intensity. An intensity that felt like it may very well have been a palpable manifestation of Rhuadhán's determination to ascend as he planned.

"...I'm done with the noise that life seems to bring  
But I'll use my voice, it's my turn to sing  
Woo, woo. Woo woo."

Crystalline hues began to spark, swiftly passing glints in the golden tempest, casting miniature rainbows across the grey face of Drölma Do, and the stone and snow littered ground around the mage-priest, and along the smooth golden-red wood of the amla staff. Rhuadhán's voice pitched louder, echoing with a near inhuman depth of vibration as the magic he was calling on infused the words.

"...You know that...

All my life  
I have been waiting, I have been waiting for this.  
All my life  
I have been fighting, I have been fighting for this..."

The staff stopped its tapping, Rhuadhán lifting it and pointing it up to the summit of Kangri Rinpoche. The magic rushing around him shifted with the motion, extending out from his body and rushing up the length of the staff. But it didn't extend out further than the staff, the Master of Magic keeping it contained and building in force.

"...Dream in my soul  
And I won't let it go...  
You know that  
All my life  
You try to keep me down but I just get higher..."

Flashes of magic around Rhuadhán became an iridescent kaleidoscope, almost dizzying to try watching. And with the riot of color dazzling the eyes, Dalamar hardly noticed that his master's feet started tapping the ground beneath him with the rhythm in place of the staff's staccato.

"...Woah, oh I...  
You try to keep me down but I just get higher..."

Tendrils of magic rapidly expanded out from Rhuadhán's outstretched arm and staff now, separate from one another, multiplying too fast to keep count of. And the magic at his feet could be seen coalescing there as well, as though each tap was fusing a metaphysical thread to the Earth.

"...Broke my bones, tasted blood  
Burned my wings close to the sun  
But I'll keep on flying  
I'm too young for dying..."

The prismatic magic rapidly twisted in and around itself, using the Master of Magic as its focal point, tendrils joining and coiling.

"...Cause there's a dream I can taste  
Think it's time I break my chains  
And run with the giants  
Like smoke, I'm rising..."

The first semblances of a "structure" could be seen forming. Unlike stories of the Bifrost, however, it looked less like two ends of a rainbow bridge arcing and more like outstretched wings arching and touching above his head and a great tail fanning out down to his feet.

"...I'm done with the noise that life seems to bring  
But I'll use my voice, it's my turn to sing.  
Woo, woo. Woo woo..."

The magic intensified, just as the sun's rays reaching up from the horizon were. It was becoming difficult to make out Rhuadhán's form within the tempest, even as his voice reverberated all the louder. Dalamar was becoming worried that outside parties, even at a couple miles away, might see the brilliant light of the magic or hear his master's voice echoing as it was. Rhuadhán seemed utterly oblivious to his magical performance potentially compromising their secrecy and security, voice booming its way forth.

"...You know that  
All my life  
I have been waiting, I have been waiting for this  
All my life  
I have been fighting, I have been fighting for this..."

The crystalline infused golden light grew to such an intensity as it stretched and fanned out, more and more taking on the form of some immense bird, that Dalamar and the wolves lost sight of Rhuadhán, having to turn their gazes away to protect their eyes.

"...Dream in my soul  
And I won't let it go  
You know that  
All my life  
You try to keep me down but I just get higher!"

The last word was said with enough magical force behind it that it reverberated out like a clap of thunder, and at the same moment the first ray of sunlight touched the magical tempest.

It could be felt more than seen by the others present that, like a flick of fire touching a keg of gunpowder, Rhuadhán's magic was unleashed in a blast of power and finished spellwork.

One moment The Master of Time and that tempest were there, and then he was gone from their midst.

And all that was left in the wake of his magical flight was a deafening silence and a brilliant rainbow that stretched from where he had been standing up to the summit of Kangri Rinpoche.

The Master of Time had successfully entered the Realm of the Gods.

An unbidden smirk crossed the dark elf's lips as a sardonic thought crossed his mind. 'I bet Majere is regretting his stunts right about now... The Three preserve that Divine Monk if my Shalafi's temper snaps.'


	7. Chapter 7 Reach For The Stars

Chapter 7

Reach For the Stars

Rhuadhán's body reformed from the haze of magic and light it had been, and he stumbled forward not on the snow softened peak of Kangri Rinpoche, but on a path of red marble tiles. Blinking his eyes and looking around hardly helped with reorienting himself, as there was little landscape to speak of. Everything seemed to be blanketed in a shimmering mist, pearlescent and heavy, so thick that one might just be able to lay on it and take a nap. The mist was refracting light from an indefinable source so that the area was plentifully lit, however, almost dazzlingly so, which wouldn't be all that conducive to a restful sleep...

The Master of Magic shook his head, confused by the train of thought. And then, as he glanced over the mists, he noticed the light emanating from it was subtly pulsing in a peculiar, unnatural pattern. There was an enchantment fused into the mists.

He had the unsettling feeling, strong enough so that he didnt feel the need to cast out his own magic to confirm it, that if he wasn't careful, his mind could be ensnared by whatever magic was infused into this mist. If he wasn't careful, he could step off the wrong way into the mist and if he wasn't lulled into resting, he'd still spend an age trying to find his way back through its seemingly endless brilliance. He needed to tune out the lit mist and concentrate on why he was here.

Rhuadhán turned his gaze down and forced himself to focus on the path beneath his feet, to regain that point of reference and safety. Then his gaze followed the path, doing his best to ignore the mist, trying to find what he sought. The red bricks wound ahead like a red ribbon through a small mountain of shimmering cotton... and led there! To a small, markedly windowless, temple of three stories, made from stones of red and golden hues that were similar to those found on the cliffs that housed the Kandrö Tor, and the high pitched roof common to Buddhist temples of the region that had just been left behind. That was where he needed to go.

He needed to get moving and claim his reward, but even without the lingering enchantment in the air attempting to ensnare him, his body was having difficulties accommodating his will to do so after being put through the strains of rapid transformation and then reformation. The magical high that he had be experiencing from the energy he had pulled in on the Path of Rebirth had evaporated, and the exhaustion he had been experiencing near Shiva-Tsal had returned with a vengeance. Even with his victory so close at hand, his target destination in sight, Rhuadhán had to concede a minor delay to his own body's demand for recovery, spending a short time simply standing on the path and concentrating on his breathing and making sure he didn't stumble off the path. When the shaking that threatened to send him tumbling to his knees had lessened to fine muscle tremors that were beyond his ability to suppress, he started walking towards the temple, leaning heavily on his new staff to help keep stable.

Despite being able to feel the cool stone beneath his feet, neither feet nor staff made noise against the tiles as he made his way towards the temple. If the blood his feet were surely dripping touched the pathway, he couldn't see mark of his passage when he reached the steps leading up to the temple's front doors and glanced over his shoulder. One could hardly expect such a place to obey the laws of physics if the resident deity didn't wish for it to be so; and apparently that deity, locally known as Lord Shiva, and properly identified in Sihir as Majere, wanted this particular heavenly residence to feel as isolated and untainted by outside influences as possible.

Rhuadhán took his time ascending the stairs, biting back both grunts of pain and words of rebuke towards the deity in residence. The Master of Kangri Rinpoche could have made the path run straight to the doors, without stairs needed, but was being petty again. 'Let the old man have his spiteful little jabs... I've passed his bloody Test and the Bifrost opened at my command. And whatever enchantment he has out here as a last ditch means of stopping guests can't ensnare me. He has no choice but to hand over my prize and allow me to go on my way. All that these little stunts accomplish is forcing us to tolerate the other's immediate presence all the longer.'

The Master of Time half expected, upon reaching the top of the stairs and limping towards the doors to the temple, to find said bronze doors barred and having to use magic to force his way inside. It seemed, however, that the Master of Thought was finally realizing such efforts would be futile to forestall the meeting and relinquishing the Vajra to its rightful owner. As the Champion approached, the door on the right silently swung open.

The interior of the temple was dimly lit by a pale rosy light from a source out of sight from where he stood, only the first several meters visible. What could be seen was a gathering room, devoid of figures or adornment, crimson floors bare and ceiling shadowed.

The entire area was heavy with latent magic, but the Master of Magic couldn't sense anything in particular formed around the entryway as some sort of barrier or trap.

Rhuadhán stepped through the threshold, and nothing untoward befell him. An eyebrow rose with mild surprise, and he glanced around. The light seemed to be coming from some enchantment within the walls of the temple, causing them to emit a uniform glow. Whatever the enchantment, it wasn't spreading upon entrance to illuminate the remainder of the temple's interior.

The mage-priest shook his head, then called out, "I wasn't expecting you to roll out the red carpet and throw me a congratulatory party, but this extreme of an opposite reaction is a bit ridiculous." His voice echoed back fairly quickly, in a clear reverberation, telling him that the acoustics in the room were quite good, but the room itself was about as small as it appeared from the outside and as empty as the front portion was. "I'm just as happy to not speak with you, old man, so if you'd rather skip the formalities and teleport my prize next to the door, by all means hand over the Vajra and let me be on my way!"

A glance over his shoulder told him that the deity hadn't charitably magicked any packages by the door. Rhuadhán heaved a sigh. His gaze turned back forward and he resolved himself to trying to search the temple floor by floor, having to climb however many blasted stairs there were with his abused feet screaming protests the whole way.

Before he could shift his staff and take his first step towards enacting that decision, the glow coming from the walls flared to a near blinding brightness. Sapphire eyes reactively closed, and he checked the impulse to throw up his free arm to cover his eyes, instead doubling his hold on his staff and hoping dear _Dahareslin_ would again protect him if this was the opening to some sort of attack he was not permitted to defend himself properly from.

The Master of Magic sensed a flux in magic ahead of him, but it was quite clearly not the formation of a spell or conjuration of some sort of guardian. The magic was a divine aura forming, an unmistakable aura that was utterly grating for the mage-priest to sense.

Then the light was fading back to its previous dim glow, and as Rhuadhán blinked open his eyes, Majere's voice could be heard, flowing as smoothly as a quiet autumn brook. "Majikahla, if you truly believe that I will simply hand you the Vajra because you made it up here, you are going to be deeply disappointed."

Rhuadhán could see the deity now, standing about five meters away- tall and lean, with white hair long and pulled back from his thin deeply tanned face, lapis eyes focused on the mortal. His red and saffron robes were as simple and unadorned as his temple, dhonka and namjar of an older style of cut and even more conservative pattern than the ones the Champion currently wore. "As was on constant display throughout the night, the only thing that disappoints me where you're concerned is your lack of creativity when trying to come up with ways to challenge me. I played your damn game, and we can both see that I've won it."

"You may have passed the Tests of Kangri Rinpoche on a base level, Majikahla..." The deity's voice stayed seemingly placid, but now it carried a hint of dangers lurking in its depths. "...But you have gone through these challenges with motivations that are beneath the boon you seek, and at every turn made mockery of the sacred proceedings you forced your way through."

Rhuadhán willed a smirk to form, and he said with all the nonchalance he could muster, gesturing with one hand to the temple floor beneath him, "And yet, Master of Monks, here I stand. I bathed in Tukje Chenpo and soaked in its healing properties without trouble, decoded Milarepa's puzzle and claimed _Dahareslin_ for my own, outlasted those bloody tigers you sent after me, passed the Test 'Lord Yama' placed before me, finished the sacred khora in unprecedented time, and ascended across planar boundaries to reach this temple. Kangri Rinpoche itself didn't turn against me during my travels, and the Bifrost recognized my lifeforce and whisked me on up here. Both of those primordial forces are unarguably far more unbiased than you are in deciding my worth..."

"Which is to say they're mindless, unthinking forces that you're able to find loopholes in to exploit," Majere interrupted, anger rippling up to disturb his cadence for a moment before subsiding back down.

"Apparently I was so unclear in what I meant to say?" Rhuadhán asked dryly. "I apologize. What I was actually implying is that you are an over-analytical, self righteous prick who can't stand when things don't go as you plan, when you can't control every tiny aspect of how one thinks, eats, lives, prays, and seeks enlightenment. If it's not your way, you think it's tainted, and will refuse all evidence to the contrary. You are as biased and bigoted as they come, and it's surprising you count as being on the side of "Good" with those domination tendencies poisoning everything you..."

"How dare you speak to me in such fashion in my own domain, you impertinent child!" The deity's face showed a flash of his wrath, and he seemed to expand, to grow to looming height; yet the Master of Magic could tell that his form had stayed the same size, it was merely a distortion to the senses caused by his aura fluctuating to such proportions. "You think you can insult every aspect of my existence and then demand my cooperation and aid? You have no right to..."

"Oh, we both know I have every right to..." Rhuadhán interrupted icily, eyes narrowing on the deity.

Majere interrupted even more quickly, taking a step forward. "_You_ only have what rights _we_ deem you to have earned. And _I_ have every reason to believe you can't be trusted with being bound to The Three's Daughter and being granted aid in taking a place among us. You are a selfish, short-sighted, narcissist who doesn't understand half of what it is he seeks and is nearly as likely to destroy creation as Kali is..."

"Yes, well, thankfully for me," Rhuadhán said dismissively, "The Three are my patrons, not you. The Three are her parents, not you. And Eros himself has helped broker the arrangements, and you take your orders from him." His smirk returned with a malicious, anticipatory edge. "So whatever say you would normally have for being the one to stick his divine flame in my ancestress' mortal oven and causing me to pop out a few generations later is overridden by the majority ruling of those directly involved. And the four to one ruling is I have a right to ascend to Godhood if I can manage the transition, I have the right to pursue Hope as my wife and she's already accepted my proposal, and we are to take over control of this world in The Three's stead while they recover from dealing with Kali. And I was given explicit instructions to take command of the Vajra to aid in the process. So unless you want one of my first acts when I become the God of Time and patron of this world to be ripping your bridge from my world and secluding you back to your old haunts, you had best follow the rules and hand over the Vajra."

"You seem to forget that carrying out your many threats requires you to ascend first," Majere's voice cracked with his rage now. "Even if you have traces of my influence buried in your soul and granting you power beyond your mortal peers, you are still very much mortal and beneath me in power, especially at so young an age of an incarnation..."

"Ah, this incarnation may be young, and my powers may not be at their height," Rhuadhán corrected, "but I am still protected by Magic and Time. You might be able to damage my body; hell, you can kill this incarnation- but bluster about your divine might all you want, we both know you can't truly touch _me. _My soul being released from flesh just opens up a world of extra possibilities for how I can plague your already miserable existence. And if you're petty enough to try delaying the inevitable by killing off my current incarnation, you invoke Eros' ire for disobeying his orders and jeopardizing our defeat of Kali. So spare me the empty threats, old man."

"I was only ordered to hand over the Vajra when I was satisfied you had been properly tested. Given your aims that exceed a normal petitioner's, and your irreverence in undertaking proceedings this far, I am not satisfied that you've been Tested thoroughly enough and have come to an appropriate appreciation for the balances that exist within the company you seek to join."

"You hypocritical bastard!" Rhuadhán snapped out. "And you dare to criticize me for exploiting loopholes?! You are never 'satisfied' with anything I do! I passed your usual tests, and dealt with extenuating challenges beyond a normal petitioner's when you sicced Sonic the White Tigers after me!"

Majere smirked, a smirk that was similar to the one often worn by the mortal standing across from him. "I did no such thing. That was Parvarti's doing."

"And you did nothing to stop her!"

The Master of Kangri Rinpoche gave the smallest of shrugs. "My companion had every right to seek retribution for the treatment you gave her and her sisters, and she was breaking no rules of the holy mountain."

Rhuadhán's jaw clenched for a moment, and then he bit out, "The Drölma wolves came to my aid, so clearly Parvarti's 'retribution' was deemed unwarranted and excessive."

Majere shrugged again. "I heeded that decision and subsequently prevented Parvarti from sending anything else... Be that as it may be, I have not personally tested you beyond how a common petitioner would be challenged, and Yama all but carried you through the section of the Test he was responsible for..."

"'All but carried' me through?" Rhuadhán asked indignantly. "Anubis knocked me unconscious, cursed me with freakish decay vision and extreme physical fatigue, repeatedly tried to mindfuck me, and then sent a quartet of his guardians to chase me! That was hardly going easy on me."

"The Test at Shiva-Tsal is meant to challenge a petitioner, to make them tear down the false layers of ego they carry, sacrifice those things holding them back, and come through the Test with a greater understanding of themselves..."

"Are you accusing Anubis of handwaving all that?" Rhuadhán challenged. "Let's call him up from the underworld and see what he has to say about such an accusation."

"I'm saying that he only sought the most superficial of sacrifices from you to allow you passage," Majere said immovably. "You are no different after this Test than you were before."

"Then what does that tell you, if you're willing to be honest with yourself?" the Master of Time demanded. "I _have_ been successfully refining my soul. I _know_ who and what I am and am guided by that. There's not going to be some dramatic revelation because it is not needed! You just can't stand that who and what I am is not what _you_ want! You can't accept that I'm not some obsequious lackey like your little sexbots, or a near carbon copy clone that seeks to model every aspect of their existence after you like my ancestor did as your cleric! I am outside your control, have evolved beyond your narrow scope of existence, and _that_ is driving you insane and causing you to try obstructing my ascension in every way you can!"

Majere raised an eyebrow, but his expression was far from entertained. "Are you quite done your temper tantrum, Majikahla?"

"You know what?" Rhuadhán snapped out. "Give me the bloody Vajra and its companion staff, and then go bugger off with Parvarti for 5,000 years again. We'd all be thankful for your absence and perhaps you'll come back a little less uptight."

A brief, mirthless laugh escaped the deity. "While I am capable of such feats of endurance and prowess, that myth of a 5,000 year copulation at this site was not my doing. That would be The Three, creating the goddess you would claim as your wife. You really understand so little..."

Rhuadhán glanced around the temple casually. "So this was where She was created? Huh. Fancy that! Despite people trying so very hard to keep details of the Blessed One from me so I can't prematurely track her down, I'm finding out so many useful bits today." He could see a flash of chagrin on the deity's face as he realized his mistake, and he let a taunting smirk curl his lips. "Well then, scratch my threat for the simple disconnect from our world. I'm going to evict you from this cute little red temple The Mother must have been responsible for, redecorate a bit for my tastes, and then continue my wife's family's tradition by making this the site of our honeymoon and where I place my little legacies in her. Even though I said off the cuff to Anubis that it would be triplets, I'm warming up to the idea of making it a trio in honor of my future in-laws. Remind me again, Majere, how many full fledged divine offspring have you made? Oh, that's right... None. So much for that prowess of yours. But at least you'll have proper grandchildren after I overcome the mortal frailties you cursed me with and ascend."

"Even if you manage ascension, which you won't, you'll be incapable of reproducing," Majere stated assuredly.

"Oh, you think so? I'm going to thoroughly enjoy proving you wrong on yet another front."

"I know it!" Majere's voice shook the very temple they stood in. "You inevitably destroy everything you come into contact with! Selfish, petty, spiteful, devoid of love and empathy, stubbornly refusing to accept criticism or to reflect on your flaws- you are incapable of creation! You are incapable of true ascension! Nothing that has taken place tonight has satisfied my concerns or suggested that you are worthy of being granted that which you seek and putting you further down the path of claiming more."

"If I'm so incapable, then why not just give me what I want and then have the last laugh when I fail?" the mage-priest demanded.

"Because your failure will not simply harm you, it will harm those around you, and I have no desire to be a party to the destruction of worlds, Hope, and possibly Creation itself!"

"Is that the best excuse you have to lie to yourself with?" Rhuadhán asked. "That hyperbolic line of theory is pathetically thin. Regardless, we can go round and round all morning with your petty opinions, but it doesn't change the fact that by every conceivable measure, I passed my damn tests. Unless you want the wrath of The Three raining down on you, you will grant me the prize I earned and allow me to be on my way."

"I owe you nothing, Majikahla," Majere said, voice suddenly returning to deceptive placidity. "Like it or not, I don't need to give you anything, not until _I_ am satisfied with your testing. Your enabling patrons cannot force me to hand over the Vajra before that criteria is met."

"So what is this to be, then?" Rhuadhán asked in exasperation. "Endless challenges in hopes I eventually slip up and this incarnation dies? Or that if I keep passing whatever little tests you manage to pull from your arse, you can at least delay long enough that Kali's plans will be carried out and the whole universe is destroyed, relieving you of ever having to admit I'm one creation beyond your control and equal to you?"

"No... Such suggestions would be unsporting and counter-intuitive to my beliefs and aims, though such an underhanded scheme sounds exactly like something you would do... I merely have one last challenge for you." Majere stated the last in a way that was far too smooth for the mage-priest's liking. "If your ascension is so inevitable and you're really so worthy, what's one final Test to prove yourself?"

"One last test? Definitively one task, not a marathon of ten thousand demands that are loosely connected?"

"Just one."

"How long will it take?"

"Depending on how you respond to the challenge, it could be done in less time than we've already spent arguing this morning."

"And what is the condition needing to be met for conceding my victory? So that you don't try and claim that even if I win, I lost because you didn't like the method?"

"If you're capable of walking out the doors, you've won."

"...Are you planning to chop off my legs and then claim victory even if I drag myself out because I didn't 'walk'?"

Majere glared at that. "Again, that would be something an evil entity, like you, would do."

"Being properly cautious does not make me evil; you're the one who has been all about the loopholes today." The Master of Time and Magic sighed with resignation. "Alright, old man. If you really want me to trounce you one final time today, who am I to deny you another humiliation? Make your move and let's bring tonight's game to an end."

.

.

.

His shalafi only seemed to be gone a score of seconds when Dalamar became aware of something decidedly abnormal happening on the summit of Kangri Rinpoche.

There was a sudden wild fluctuation of magic that burst out and could be felt from where they were on Drölma summit.

'Did he not manage to breach the barrier between realms and is now trying to tear his way through?' The dark elf barely had time to think the thought, then, like the aftershocks of an earthquake, several more pulses of magic followed. The magic felt wild, barely controlled, so unlike anything in Dalamar's experience that he couldn't begin to guess what was causing it. Whatever it was meant to do, however, it was diffused enough by the time it reached those below that it wasn't causing any immediately discernible harm or effects.

As quickly as it had begun, before the dark elf could attempt to work a spell to try identifying it, the bursts of magic stopped radiating out.

And that's when Dalamar noticed everything had gone eerily silent.

There were no sounds from the few birds in the area. Altankhüü was hunkered down close to Bilguun with his ears lowered and tail tucked tightly around his hindquarters. The Mongolian wolves were exchanging confused glances, but even Mönkhbold couldn't seem to find his voice to ask what just took place. Even the wind, relentless up until now, had gone quiet.

It was as if the entire mountain had taken a bracing breath in, and was waiting for some sign it was safe to exhale.

Then the dark elf's keen eyes noticed a seemingly small speck moving along the edge of Kangri Rinpoche's gently sloped peak. A speck that could be seen because, against the pristine snowy backdrop, its red color was like a drop of blood marring the face of a pale maiden.

Dalamar's breath caught in his throat, realizing it was his shalafi. Given the short period of time his master had been gone, and the brief bursts of magic, he couldn't begin to guess if Rhuadhán had succeeded, or had failed at the point of crossing and was now working up the courage to face them below.

The red speck crossed the short distance to the edge of the Rainbow Bridge, and then stopped.

A disappointed sigh escaped Dalamar. His master's hesitancy to descend didn't bode well at all. What had gone wrong? It had looked like the potion had worked and his master had successfully completed the Ritual of Ascension. Had he not been as precisely attuned as he needed to be?

Whatever had gone wrong, was he so slow in returning not out of damaged pride, but because he was injured from the failed attempt? Or injured from what may have been some sort of raging reaction to his failure?

Dalamar's confused pondering was again interrupted by magic.

Except, this time, the intent of the magic was unmistakable in purpose.

Because the magic was simply a spell to amplify sounds.

And the sounds being amplified were his shalafi's voice, again turned to a Queen song to herald his own success.

"Here we are!  
Born to be king,  
I'm the Prince of the Universe!

Here we belong.  
Fighting to survive in a war with the darkest powers!"

The sounds of drums and an electric guitar echoed down from the summit, and Rhuadhán could be seen starting to jog down the Rainbow Bridge, instead of using magic to safely speed his way down, as though the creation of light was as substantial as one made of stone and mortar.

"Son of a Sanction whore..." Dalamar murmured in unadulterated shock, unable to form a more coherent response.

Mönkhbold, on the other hand, had broken into laughter and was pointing up at his triumphant friend, who was now apparently confirmed as all of their Ariunkhan.

Rhuadhán, oblivious to (or, more likely, uncaring of) whatever reactions his stunt might be eliciting, continued his celebratory march down the Rainbow Bridge, allowing himself an extended drum and guitar intro before continuing his singing.

"And here I am,  
I'm the Prince of the universe.  
Here I belong,  
Fighting for survival.  
I've come to be the ruler of your world!"

"March" was apparently not the correct term for Rhuadhan's descent. Dalamar could just make out that his shalafi was _dancing_ his way down the Bifrost. And tiny flashes of sparks could be seen coming from his hands as he apparently used magic to improvise the sacred staff in his hands as a guitar.

Even the wolves who couldn't speak English could discern the obvious that Nominchono was returning in success. And while they didn't want to tell the Ariunkhan how to conduct what was indeed a celebratory moment, there was the concern of others hearing this exceedingly loud performance he was putting on. Batzorig issued a few quick commands to Chuluukhüü, and the younger High Priest went darting down the path away from the summit to intercept any guards who might hear echoes of the music and come investigating.

"I am immortal!  
I have inside me blood of gods!  
I have no rival.  
No man can be my equal.  
Take me to the future of your world..."

The sound illusions suddenly cut off, Rhuadhán activating his Time magic to zip forward across more than half the distance of the Bifrost. A massive bolt of lightning came crashing down, missing its mark entirely. Hardly missing a beat in the wake of what Dalamar could only assume was some sort of expression of divine disapproval of his little show, and seemingly shrugging off the crack of thunder produced by the lightning that had to be near deafening from striking so close, the Master of Magic dropped his Time magic and continued down the Bifrost at a near run, resuming singing and projecting the base musical accompaniments.

"Born to be king  
Prince of the Universe  
Fighting and free.  
Got your world in my hand.  
I'm here for your love and I'll make my stand!  
I was born to be Prince of the Universe!"

As Rhuadhan whipped around to briefly run backwards and point up at the summit of Kangri Rinpoche, he was finally close enough for the dark elf to make out that three things had changed in the brief time he had been gone.

"Old Man can't understand-  
My power is in my own hand."

The first and most obvious was that when he turned, a massive maroon cloth sack with rope straps could be seen hanging against his back.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh..."

The second was that as Rhuadhán's long braid lashed out with the swift movements and sunlight glinted off it, it could be seen that the scarlet locks now had shocks of pure white hair laced through them...

"...People talk about you.  
People say you've had your day..."

And as he turned back around to dash down the remaining length of the Rainbow Bridge and Dalamar's gaze went over him in search of other changes, he realized that his master's skin had an all too familiar golden hue to it, and this time it wasn't a temporary effect caused by reflecting an aura of magic that was about to transport him on the wings of magic.

"I'm a man that will go far.  
Fly to the moon and reach for the stars,  
With my staff and head held high,  
Gods I passed the Test- first time!

I know that people talk about me.  
I hear it every day,  
But I can prove you wrong  
'Cause I'm right first time!"

Rhuadhán reached the end of the Rainbow Bridge as he was doing an extended guitar solo and, seeing the aghast look on his mentor's face, broke into laughter as agile fingers finished out the score. A laugh that sounded both ecstatic and not entirely sane.

"I swear to The Three," Dalamar said as the music faded out and he eyed his master warily, "you had better have the Vajra in that sack, or I'm going back to my retirement."

Rhuadhán laughed again and muttered a few words in Sihir, dismissing the flow of magic he was fueling his prolonged sound spells with. "Is that so, Magie? I think you'd last about three days, and then your incessant need to fuss over my training would become too much to ignore and you'd come out of retirement a second time."

Dalamar was cut off from saying anything else because Rhuadhán had turned away and was now accepting ritual phrases of congratulations and fealty from the wolves, and some minor chastisement from Batzorig for being as loud as he had been. Unlike when the dark elf chastised him, Rhuadhán offered back an apology to the Alpha High Priest of the Dark God, citing his overwhelming joy at his success that needed to be expressed lest it burst out of him in some other way. And with a few more exchanges between the two, there wasn't the least amount of hard feelings to be found for Rhuadhán potentially placing the security of their mission in jeopardy. Because no matter what life he was living, the Master of Magic had a peculiar knack for saying just the right things to elicit the responses he wanted from those around him when he was in the mood to be manipulative.

Rhuadhán turned back to Magie after speaking with the wolves and said, "For the love of my patrons, can we please get my feet cleaned and wrapped before we try legging it out of here?"

Dalamar nodded to that and gestured to a boulder for his master to sit on, reaching into the supply bag for Lemuel's ointment. As he limped over, Rhuadhán asked Batzorig and the others to keep a watch further down with Chuluukhüü. When the wolves were out of hearing range, Dalamar glanced his master over again and, noting the unsettling changes, asked as he cast cantrips to clean the soles of his feet, "What happened up there with Majere?"

Rhuadhán flinched as his mentor began to apply the salve with deft, if not entirely gentle, motions. "My oh so benevolent progenitor was being his usual self- a sulking sore loser. The monk challenged me to one last test, and I passed it. He handed over my prize and then evicted me back onto the mountain."

"So you did get the Vajra?" Dalamar asked with relief. "Why the sack? Is the staff in some sort of containment device to keep its power from being noticed?"

Despite his exhaustion and pain, Rhuadhán's face lit up and he unslung the bag, pulling it into his lap. He said with almost childlike glee, momentarily seeming like his incarnation's current age, rather than an archmage of almost countless millennia of existence, "I'll give you another guess at it before showing you."

Dalamar put Lemuel's ointment back in the supply bag and pulled the bandages out. "It's not in containment?" He glanced up at his master, who shook his head to the negative, then turned his gaze back to his work. Unable to sense any magic from the bag, he asked, "Did Majere snap it into pieces and you're going to have to put it back together?"

"Another miss," Rhuadhán said, still grinning. "I'll give you a hint- the arguments you, Lemuel, father, and Master Horton had over the translations of its name are now all the more hilarious because you were all right, but you were also so very, very wrong."

Dalamar paused what he was doing, looking up at his master in confusion. "We were all correct?" Rhuadhán nodded again, and he looked like he was trying very hard not to jitter with excitement as he drew out giving an explanation, which was highly unlike him. His gaze swept over the bag in his master's lap, actively trying to sense out magic, but he still couldn't sense the smallest trace of anything. Dark gaze turned back up, and he asked warily, "How is the Vajra a 'diamond vessel', 'diamond vehicle', 'lightning vessel', and lightning 'vehicle'? Just what sort of staff is it? I'm guessing that bag itself is what is blocking its magical signature to avoid attention being drawn?"

Rhuadhán's grin grew and he gestured for Magie to lean in. "A quick glance will answer that question, but we have to be quick because I don't want the cold air to get into the bag."

Dalamar sighed and leaned forward, having the momentary thought that his master could very well be playing some trick on him.

The bag's ties were pulled loose, and Rhuadhán tilted the opening enough for his mentor to see the tops of what lay inside.

And the dark Silvanesti elf felt like his blood was suddenly transmuted into ice water as he saw the contents, going stiff with instinctual terror that was born of experiences that were even older than those that caused his fear of his Shalafi. They were not quite like others he had seen, perhaps owing to some evolution over the eons, but there was still no mistaking what they were. Dark eyes went from the bag, which was being swiftly closed again, to said master. "Do you realize exactly what those are?!"

Rhuadhán's grin shifted to a sardonic smirk, golden tinted lips pulling in an all too familiar way, and he said with anticipation, "They're one of the five primal elements given form. And I am going to find the other four, take control of them with the help of the diamond staff, then sweep over our enemies with the full wrath of nature and neutrality to obliterate them from this world. And when that scourge is gone, my bride and I will have a fleet of mounts fit for gods among mortals, our offspring, and our favored entourage." He nudged his big toe against his mentor's hand and said with a hint of impatience, "Get my feet wrapped proper so I don't end up with an infection or crippled before we can reach the horses, and I'll let you have first pick of which element to command."

While his Shalafi clearly felt that was gracious incentive and reward, his lack of certain memories meant that he couldn't know his offer had the polar opposite effect. Dalamar was unwilling, and in some ways, unable, to give an honest response to his master at this time. So he said quietly, in as stoic a voice as could be managed, "Thank you, Master, for the honor," and then went back to wrapping Rhuadhán's injuries so they could begin the arduous trek back to where they'd be spending the winter months. The dark elf could tell his master was giving him a questioning look, but he ignored the silent inquiry; and Rhuadhán blessedly decided to not pursue questioning his reaction, sparing him the need to actively lie to his Shalafi.

Not for the first time, nor likely would it be the last, the dark elf hoped The Three knew what they were doing. Putting so much power at the Master of Magic and Time's disposal... with his plans for ascension to be potentially fulfilled... and with his master still not being himself... and even when Raistlin was whole again, with him having the temperament and morality he had...

The Three were playing a very dangerous game right now, and Dalamar could only hope this didn't blow up in all of their faces.

.

.

.

A/N: heya folks. I'm sorry this chapter took so long to get it out. I was having an insanely hard time getting the tones of conversation between Majere and Rhuadhán the way I wanted, and I was unwilling to put this out until I was reasonably satisfied with the quality. It's gone through several rewrites and edits, but I'm finally satisfied.

I'm sure there's questions about what I've thrown at you this chapter, but I also dropped hints in the last installment that this was how I interpreted why Raist had the crazy power level he had, why there's canonical similarities between him and the deity his family is named for, and why he was able to even try for godhood in Legends. More of my interpretation will unfold as the series progresses.

But for now, we're moving along to other characters, as this is the last Rhuadhán chapter until the end of the installment. I hope you enjoyed this extended prologue of what's been going on with this half of the equation, and will enjoy getting back to Ria, Raist, and the rest of their crew. I make no promise on when the next chapter will be out as I've been shit at keeping those the last few chapters, but it shouldn't take a month because I'm excited for the next chapters and have them clearly outlined already.


	8. Book2 Chap1 Trouble Brewing In The North

**Book 2**

Chapter 1

Troubles Brewing In The North

As the spring winds howled outside and the heavy rains beat down on the roof and ground with an unrelenting fury, inside the C Company barracks the soldiers were howling with laughter and ale mugs were beating on the table as yet another green recruit shoved his coins towards the red mage and left the table in embarrassment.

Raistlin collected his winnings with a hint of a smirk, not adding to the jeers of his twin's company as he stacked the coins neatly to one side. Golden hourglass gaze went from the gold and copper coins to the steel and silver tokens, then scanned the gathering. "Would anyone else like to give it a go tonight? Or shall I pay my backers their share and leave you to your drinking?" His smirk became more provoking as he saw the last potential challenger stay silent, refusing to meet his cursed gaze, enthusiasm deflating after seeing the previous two contenders being defeated.

"Aw, heck," Scrounger's voice called out from down the table as the mage's golden hand was reaching for his tokens. "You know what? Let's have a round. I've been practicing a bit more and I think I can at least give you a run for those coins."

Raistlin snorted back a laugh and leaned to one side to address the half kender. Caramon was the one to say, however, in good-natured warning, "Scrounger, while I appreciate your pluck, I think we all know that if you're going to challenge Raist, you might as well hand over your coins now and then grab another ale."

Laughter echoed among the soldiers, but Scrounger gamely left his seat to sit across from the mage. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, I've finally got my new counter from the blacksmith after doing a bit of trading, and I might as well give it a whirl against the reigning Knight's Jump champion. Maybe a bit of his luck will rub off on it and I'll at least be able to better trounce ham-fisted lugs like you."

That teasing comment caused more laughter, not least of all from Caramon, who tweaked the half kender's spikey carrot locks as he took another long pull from the mug in his other hand.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," Raistlin said as the half kender took up his spot and batted at the bigger man's hand in annoyance. "And perhaps try less 'whirling' and more flicking."

"You know what I meant!" Scrounger said with a roll of his eyes, rifling through his pouch for his new counter and a few coins to bet. "Starting at three gold, right?"

"Plus a copper for every called trick shot the other manages to make," Raistlin confirmed.

"Sure thing!" Scrounger agreed, dropping down the entry gold and a small handful of coppers. His steel counter came out next and he held it up for the mage to see, "I think this one will be luckier than the last."

Hourglass gaze surveyed the design, and the mage couldn't help but laugh at what the half kender had commissioned, having heard about this particular stunt from Caramon a few days after it had happened. Engraved onto the disk was a rough outline of a girl child, hair gilded with a thin layer of gold, with an elven bow in one hand and an ale mug in the other, seated upon what looked like a griffon cub who had a goblin head dangling from his maw.

"So ya like it?" Scrounger asked proudly. Raistlin gave a nod, then shook his head with laughter tapering off. "I figured if the story of the rescue of the golden haired princess was enough to keep me in the army, maybe this little lady might be lucky enough to keep me in the game too."

Raistlin gestured to the cups arranged between them and said, "Well, let's see how she handles herself. Maybe you'll pull off another seeming miracle. Do you want to leave the layout as Brengar wanted, of Mishakal's Spiral, or do you want to try another?"

Scrounger opened his mouth to reply, but it was a different voice to address the mage from behind. "Red! There you are! Damnit, I've been looking all over for you."

Raistlin sighed and turned on the bench enough to look at his superior, who was standing by the door. "In case you forgot, Master Horkin, you gave me the night off. What can I help you with?"

Master Horkin's pale gaze swept over the crowd of soldiers and then he gave a jerk of his head to the hallway. "Outside in the hall, Red, not here."

Raistlin gave another sigh, saying to Scrounger, "Seems you'll have to wait to let the princess have her first ride into battle in Sir Jeffrey's honor... Tumbler, Nick, here you are." A few swift gestures sent coins sliding to their respective owners, and a sweep of a hand sent the rest of his neat pile falling into his own money pouch.

Caramon asked quietly as his twin settled his affairs, "Did you do something to get yourself in trouble with Horkin?"

Raistlin shook his head and murmured back as he grabbed his staff from where it was leaned next to him, "Not that I can think of. Probably wants me to do a few last minute tasks before the Company heads out to put down the ogre issue and he's stuck doing the menial chores for the next few weeks because Gregath didn't return this season."

"Ah. Have fun with that then," Caramon said, clearly glad he could continue his drinking with his comrades without worrying about his twin's sudden departure.

Raistlin took his leave without further comment, and Master Horkin tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his order to be followed. Raistlin closed the door to the barracks behind him after joining his master in the hallway, and raised a snowy white eyebrow in question to his night off being interrupted.

Horkin's lips and hairless brows pulled into a full face frown and he said, nodding in the opposite direction to their own lodgings and workspace, "I just got out of a meeting with the Baron. He wants a word with you."

Raistlin's eyebrow hiked higher, with the second joining the first. "The Baron wants a word with me? At this hour? What about?"

"Best you hear it from him, Red. I'm just the messenger sent to fetch you," Horkin replied matter-of-fact. "I will say, I hope that brother of yours isn't too deep into his cups already, because you'll likely be needing to get your asses moving fairly quick once you're done talking to the Baron."

Raistlin understood the not so subtle hint and cracked open the door to call back into the barracks, "Caramon, before I forget, you've had enough to drink tonight!" His twin blinked in confusion to the sudden command as he turned towards the door. "Save yourself the hangover, put down the mug and get some rest." Raistlin paused long enough to see understanding, slow as it was, dawn on his twin's face, and then was closing the door again as Caramon responded to a few of the men teasing him for being nagged about his drinking by his twin. Hourglass gaze turned back to his master. "Is the Baron in his planning room, the officers' meeting room, or his main suite?"

"Planning room," Horkin said. "I'm going to tip a bottle back and then get some sleep, so try to keep it down when you come back in to pack."

"Of course, sir," Raistlin said. And with that, the two mages parted ways; one to enjoy the rest of his evening off, and the other to receive his latest orders.

If he and his twin weren't being kept with the rest of the company for their first contract of the season, this would hopefully be more interesting than some skirmish and cleanup of a marauding band of ogres. That was a welcome thought because, after a few such encounters, it was becoming an almost predictable task. The Baron accepted a few of the contracts a year, at a fee that was well below his usual asking for his men's services- partially as favors for the less martial neighboring lords, partially for the practicality of keeping the roadways safe for all their trading benefits, and partially as an easier training exercise for the new recruits, under C Company's supervision, when they didn't have a pressing contract to immediately strike out for at the start of the campaign season. That was all well and good for the local politics and every day safety concerns, but the warmage was about to enter his third campaign season. He wanted more of a challenge for one of his skills after being largely cooped up all winter, but finding chances to distinguish himself as a superior warmage was proving to be more difficult than he had imagined. He had the Baron's favor and confidence, and therefore his continued employment and a steady income, but it wasn't as though he was receiving offers from other commanders to hire him on at an even better rate or a missive from a more experienced warmage offering to take him on as an apprentice. His dreams of amassing a small fortune as a highly sought after warmage seemed almost as far out of reach as they had when he first joined up with the Baron's army, and it wasn't as though he'd make his fortunes and fame winning some games of Knight's Jump a few times a month.

As Raistlin made his way down the torch lit halls, he was hoping to at least placate some measure of his growing restlessness with whatever assignment was going to pull him away from a potentially tedious routing of local ogre marauders. Excursions where the best he could hope for was he might be asked to lead a few sentries into an ambush with some illusions and then wait for Caramon and the rest of the soldiers to storm the main encampment, or perhaps light a few magical fires or toss out a web spell to cut off escape routes. And even once the campaign season was in full swing, it wasn't seeming promising that it would be much better. The last time he had been given a real challenge was in Hope's End, a year and a half ago now, during his first season with the Mad Baron's army, dealing with that strange red robed warmage their erstwhile allies had employed. Last season, his role had been split between aiding in the medical tent and occasionally doing slightly more extensive routing magics than he did on skirmishes to help control battlefield conditions for their side, taking his cues from the drummers relaying the Baron's orders. Yes, it helped them win, but he wasn't exercising his own judgement nor being given room to get creative.

If he allowed himself to think on it, it would be almost depressing how boring his role was, how underutilized his talents were. He really hoped the Baron had something more challenging to offer him, that this wasn't a repeat of the last "special" assignment. He, Caramon and Scrounger had been sent out to investigate reports of large herds of animals falling ill, as the Baron had been given reports it might be sorcerous sabotage of their supply chain. As it turned out, it was a relatively simple case of an invasive foreign plant having cropped up, appearing much like some of their local berries and being overlooked by the farmers as a potential culprit because they had been able to eat it just fine. Scrounger hadn't noticed the difference either, and he picked a helmet full of the berries, which he and Caramon proceeded to start eating as the mage was inspecting some of the goats for signs of what ailed them. Being a proficient herbalist, when Raistlin rejoined them and saw the remaining berries they were gorging on, he noticed the leaves still on a few stems were slightly misshapen and the shade of purple was off. They led him to where the berries had been picked, and he quickly confirmed his suspicions as to the identity of the plant. Upon questioning the farmers whose land they were on, it was revealed that one of their neighbors had planted a few new crops they had bought the seeds for while in a port market. Speaking with that farmer revealed that, due to translation idioms, the seeds had been mislabeled as a variation of the local berry that promised to be sweeter and hardier. It was a simple matter to instruct the farmers on how to tear it out and ensure the deep sprawling roots were destroyed so they wouldn't come back and poison the animals next season.

The farmers had appreciated the aid, the offending farmer promised to be more discerning where he purchased new seeds from, and their lords appreciated their livestock being preserved from further illness. But diagnosing plant species didn't exactly get a warmage noticed, nor had it allowed him to test or expand his magical skills. If this turned out to be another berry issue, he could very well end up spending the entire return trip to the Baron's castle trying to talk himself into staying enlisted in the army, instead of just cutting his losses and returning to Solace, where he could at least do such menial work from the comfort of his own home. And he already knew what his best argument against it would be- that it would be admitting defeat, and losing the steady pay of a basic warmage, and closing the door to any chance of ever launching his career to the heights he had hoped to reach. No, even though his current employment felt underwhelming, the alternative would be infinitely worse.

Such preoccupied thoughts carried him to his destination, to one of the Baron's main offices. Raistlin found the petite commander by himself and brooding over some maps and a few missives laid before him. Before he could announce himself, the Baron said without glancing up, "Good, you're finally here, Majere. Close the door and take a seat."

"Yes, my lord."

He had hardly lowered himself to his chair when the Baron finally looked up and pushed a map at the mage. "Are you familiar with the town of Godseye, here in the Northern passes?"

Raistlin gave a perfunctory glance down at the map to confirm the town he was being asked about, a town about two days ride south-west of the city of Queen's Shield, bordering the top of the northernmost branch of the mountain range. "Not personally, sir. I know of it by reputation, mainly things Master Horkin has mentioned, but I've not had chance or cause to visit it myself."

"So you're at least aware it's a town that caters to wizards, thanks to the founding family's propensity for magic?" To the young mage's nod, the Baron said, "And have you also heard from Master Horkin that there's been a series of disappearances over the winter in Godseye?"

"No, my lord," Raistlin said, interest increasing by a few degrees.

The Baron gave a nod and then pointed to other points on the map, north of Vantal for one, and South-east of The Tooth for the other. "Horkin heard from some contacts of his about two mages up and disappearing last year, some months apart and living some two hundred miles away from one another. Didn't look like foul play, and they weren't exactly the sociable types, so neighbors thought they just moved elsewhere. But then Horkin heard about some strange things coming out of Godseye- mysterious visitors to a couple of the black robes and a red robe living there, and then those three wizards went missing within just a few days of each other. We can rule out kidnappings or killings as the likely answers. One of the missing, he apparently had a row with his wife just before he disappeared, asking her to come somewhere with him, but she wasn't liking the idea of leaving her family home and he was apparently not giving her much in the way of details of what they'd be leaving for. At least, she wasn't willing to share any potentially incriminating details with Horkin's contact. Honorable as it is for her to want to protect such a miscreant, even after such flagrant disregard for his marital vows, Horkin's friend had a feeling Madam Black Robe might know something more than she was letting on. The other two missing, they didn't have any spouses, but their next of kin or neighbors were not given much cause to suspect they'd disappear and were surprised when it happened."

"And you're wanting me to investigate these disappearances?" When the Baron gave a nod, Raistlin asked, "If Master Horkin has a rapport with some of the residents, enough to get the information we currently have, wouldn't it be more prudent to send him to investigate?"

The Baron stroked his thick black beard, debating his words, then shook his head. "Horkin is of the thought, and I'm inclined to agree, that him being well enough known in that area could be more of a liability. People there know he's a longstanding member of my army. If our suspicions are correct, these wizards are being recruited for something. What exactly, we're not sure, but if someone well known to be in my employ and loyal goes sniffing around..."

"Then whoever these mysterious potential recruiters are might scatter, or kill him on the spot, to cover their tracks."

"Precisely," the Baron agreed. "For all we know, they may have already moved on to their next targets, or gotten everyone they were hoping to recruit and have scampered off to wherever it is they call home. The last disappearance was about three weeks ago. If they're still lurking around Godseye, though, I'm hoping to find out what they're on about. And even if Horkin wasn't ambushed for just being one of my men, if there's something nefarious going on, he'd certainly be outnumbered if he tries to nip it in the bud before they can grow their numbers any further. He's a reliable mage, but something like this..."

"Has he contacted the Conclave about this?" Raistlin asked, as this was certainly something they should be made aware of, if they weren't already by other means.

"Yes," the Baron said, a hint of disdain leaking into his voice. He pulled a fresher looking missive out from under some others, and flicked it dismissively onto the map. "And they said they'd appreciate it if we could attempt to look into the matter, as their suitable agents are currently busy with other matters. That white robe who leads them, Par-Salian, is apparently aware you're with my army..."

"He asked my former school sponsor, who is an old friend of his, to help find me employment after my Test, so I would assume Antimodes informed him that I intended to follow his suggestion to seek you out."

"Yes, well, as you can see, he ended the response with the 'suggestion' we send you, as apparently you're familiar with how cults operate and he thinks you can handle this, if that's what these recruiters are about..."

Raistlin had been glancing over the Head of the Conclave's brief letter, but looked up when the Baron didn't continue. The Baron was giving him The Stare. The one that demanded his subordinates explain what a potentially controversial detail might be, lest they find out just how quickly such a seemingly unimposing man could knock them down to his size. Raistlin gave a small sigh and said mildly, "I assure you, my lord, I have never had any involvement with a cult. What Par-Salian was referencing was the incident in which I earned my right to take my Test. There was a cult operating in a small city near my home town, and their leader was someone who had first attempted to infiltrate Solace several years earlier and caused a tragedy for my family before fleeing town. So when my brother and I recognized them, I convinced our companions to aid us in exposing the charlatan and we were finally able to bring their operations to an end."

"Oh, well that sounds like quite the engaging story," the Baron said, stormy expression blowing over and replaced by an intrigued smile. "You're full of surprises, aren't you? Though I'm sorry for whatever misfortune they caused you." Speaking on the heels of the mage's obligatory, "thank you, sir," he continued. "Perhaps we'll have a chance some night for you to tell me that story. But that night is not tonight, as I'd wager that's the sort of story to be told with a cup of something strong to fortify the nerves, and we both have duties to be off to soon. Even without that Par-Salian's suggestion, Horkin and I were already of the thought that if those tower mages weren't quick or willing to respond, the odds would be better in your favor than his for investigating what's happening. Especially if you bring that twin of yours along to watch your back, and Scrounger to help you 'find' anything that might be easily overlooked..."

Raistlin held back the groan that wanted to rumble out at the thought of being on the road, for what promised to be at least a month and half's travel, with Scrounger and the half kender not having an entire Company of companions to help keep him entertained and from causing too much mischief. Useful as he was in certain types of situations, his kender side still peeped out and made him a frustrating travelling companion at times.

The Baron either didn't notice or, more likely, ignored the mage's displeased expression, continuing his instructions. "If you three can't track down whoever these recruiters are, if they've already left the area, I want you to at least talk to this abandoned wife and the neighbors, search the houses that were vacated and see if there's anything left behind that might give us any clues to where they went. I'm friendly with the lord of Queen's Shield because of trade arrangements we have, and the governor of Godseye answers to him, so I'll be sending you with a Writ of Introduction in case her guards notice you're investigating the matter and get nosy about it. Just don't go flashing it around..."

"Because then it'd give my purposes away to the recruiters, if they're still there. Yes, sir, I understand how such matters best work."

The Baron laughed at that faintly frustrated comment. "Well, I'd hope so. That's why I called you in for this meeting and am putting you as lead in the matter, not the other Majere. Your brother is a damn fine soldier, but intrigues and more delicate work aren't exactly his strong points."

"I appreciate the confidence, my lord," Raistlin said, and the sentiment was actually meant.

"Good, and I'm hoping you won't let me down on this matter," the Baron said, tone shifting to seriousness in almost the blink of an eye. "Even though we're looking into this matter as a favor and for the sake of prudence, you're going to need to step especially carefully on this one."

"How so, besides for the obvious reasons?" Raistlin asked.

The Baron tugged on his beard with a sigh. Finally, he said, "I'm sure you've heard through the grape vine that there's been rumors of an army growing in the north, somewhere in the northern ranges of the Khalkist Mountains."

Raistlin nodded in confirmation. "I have, for a few years now. But, despite the rumors, and some excess travel reportedly happening in the region, I haven't heard of this supposed army actually doing anything with the troops they've been amassing."

The Baron said with frown remaining, "Yes, you have, lad. You remember our back-stabbing allies in Hope's End, don't you?"

Raistlin's head paused mid-nod and his expression tightened in furious understanding. "They were part of that army?!"

The Mad Baron nodded. "We knew fairly quickly that something was off with them, with them being far too well trained for a supposed local militia raised to deal with a rebellion, but we weren't aware of who they really were. As I'm sure you can imagine, it's been of particular interest to me to uncover just who donned those false colors and shot my men in the back. We've had a devil of a time trying to discreetly track down that answer. Some other commanders I know, however, have had similar misfortunes popping up over the last two seasons, some of them even worse off than we were and barely making it out alive. I suspect there's been more, but those ones didn't make it out alive, and their deaths have been simply attributed to poor leadership and being a casualty of war. And there's been increased demands for trade, heading north, that coincides with an army's needs. Lord Kevan of Queen's Shield is one of the lords who has been pressured into increasing his trade with agents supposedly representing Kortal and Telvan. The men being sent behave more like bruisers than diplomats in negotiations; there's been unsubtle insinuations that if he doesn't provide the trade requested, it can be forced from him. And some of the money he's been paid with, it's not minted in the usual Khurrish fashion, even if the steel is good and coming in the timely fashion promised.

"When he tried to send envoys to King Wilhelm about the Khurs' behavior, hoping King Wilhelm would send envoys to King Brevain about his vassals' men, Lord Kevan was instead sent a missive from King Wilhelm that he was aware there was potential strain in keeping up with the demands of their Khurrish neighbors, but the trade was good for both countries and it'd be best to do what was necessary to keep up with the requests from Telvan and Kortal. Lord Kevan has quietly submitted to King Wilhelm's decision, as there's been a number of civic problems in cities all along the borders of Khur and Blode and he doesn't want the same to happen in Queen's Shield. While we're sure it's some sort of sabotages like there was to the good King Wilhelm for a time, these mercenaries being sent are very good at sneaking off into the shadows when they realize they might be caught, and covering their tracks as they leave. It seems that even if he's no longer under some direct nefarious influence, King Wilhelm wishes to avoid any further potential conflicts and loss of lives by not challenging the Khurrish requests, despite there being solid reasons to suspect the Khurs aren't making it strictly on their own behalves, but for this supposed 'Dragon Army' some have been getting coin from."

Raistlin felt as though a rock had dropped into his stomach at the direct naming of a dragon army, and asked quietly, "You've come to the conclusion, quite understandably, that it's all the work of this army in the Khalkist Mountains, working in smaller factions and under different false banners and names, and apparently with the Khur monarchy as an ally, to keep people from realizing just how influential and problematic they're becoming?"

The Baron nodded grimly. "Afraid so, Majere."

"And with that being the case, these mysterious figures contacting mages might very well be recruiters for this army, trying to bolster their ranks of warmages, and not some cult or other effort?"

The Mad Baron nodded again. "That they might be. We don't know for sure, there's admittedly plenty of other explanations for these incidents that may not lead to this so called Dragon Army. And I usually don't meddle in the matters of wizards because I'd rather not worry about some curse being sent my way for sticking my nose where it's not wanted. But under the circumstances, I want to know if this does have something to do with the Dragon Army. There's far too many abnormal occurrences happening the last two years. I don't like it, my gut tells me this isn't going to stay centralized around Khur and its borders. We're far enough south and small enough that Langtree hasn't been targeted yet, but we do have a solid port access that makes trading with the hospitable parts of the Plains of Dust and up the coast of Blode easy, and the extensive roadways that cut down to Vantal. Whoever is orchestrating this Dragon Army may be content to operate in smaller fashions and under different banners than his own for a time, but activity has been increasing and they're starting to feel comfortable enough to let things like their own coins be sent out to start asserting their own authority. If this keeps up, eventually it'd be strategic to try dragging us into these maneuvers so they can expand their efforts. And I swear to Kiri-Jolith, I don't plan to play along if that happens, regardless of what King Wilhelm says. Not after what those bastards already did to my men. Nothing good will come from enabling bad faith actors to spread their influence. So I need to know who and what we're truly dealing with, wherever I can get the information from."

"Ariakas, my lord," Raistlin said as stoically as he could manage, with a growing sense of dread he couldn't full name. To the Baron's questioning look, he cleared his throat and continued uneasily, knowing this was information too important to keep to himself under the circumstances. "I haven't heard enough to know if he's in charge of the entire army, or just one major faction of it, but before I left Solace, a mercenary by the name of Balif came through and recruited someone I knew. Supposedly for an army in the far north, in the name of a man he called 'Lord Ariakas'. That person was given a small sack of steel coins, some of which were stamped with an image of the dragon goddess, and wanted my brother and I, as well as a friend of ours, to head north with them and see what this Ariakas was about. I thought it sounded shady, so did Caramon, and I was still a student with no intentions to leave my studies prematurely, so we refused. I haven't heard anything from them since, but I'd wager they went north as planned to seek their employment there. From the sounds of what you've told me, the army they were recruited for is one and the same with this Dragon Army. And if that's the case, we should be concerned because their efforts to recruit aren't primarily localized to Khur and Northern Blode, they've been searching for talent for at least four years from all over Ansalon."

The Mad Baron stared at the young mage for several long seconds in surprise, then heaved a sigh that seemed to ripple up from his tall shiny boots to the wide brim of his favorite hat. "Would you care to tell me who it was they recruited, and why they might have been? And why they tried to enlist you and your brother to go with them?"

Raistlin almost wanted to defer on that request, out of instinct to protect his family. But she had made her choices, and it wasn't as though he was pitting the Baron and himself directly against her. For all he knew, Kit's short temper could have gotten herself into trouble somewhere along that long journey and ended up with a knife to the heart or a slashed throat while sleeping in some sleazy tavern. If he refused to tell the Baron, especially after having already revealed what he had, it could easily be taken as a sign of disloyalty and jeopardize their employment.

The warmage sighed, then said levelly, "It was my elder half sister, Kitiara, who is an accomplished sword fighter thanks to lessons she had from her father, who had been a knight. She left home when my twin and I were children, to try seeking out her father's family in Solamnia. While she wasn't able to find her father's family, she came back quite the experienced mercenary who stood out because she is a woman of such talents. She wanted us to join her, make it a family profession. As is obvious from our employment with you, we were interested in a martial life, but my sister's contacts and some of her evasive behavior about it all made us extremely uncomfortable and we felt it best to go our own way. And as I said, we haven't had contact with Kit since we went our separate ways. I don't know if she made it to the army or not, nor if she would have stayed with them or decided she preferred her freelance lifestyle. She's always been the wild card in the family."

"I see..." The Baron tugged on his beard again, then said, "Well, Majere, thank Kiri-Jolith that you were prudent enough to realize something was wrong with the offer and didn't take it. I'd be without one of my two best mages, and one of my best soldiers, if you had."

"Thank you, my lord," Raistlin said with an attempt at smile, relieved that his employer wouldn't be calling their loyalties into question. "To be frank, the more I hear about the army to the north, the more I am glad we made the decision we did."

The Baron nodded and after a few seconds he poured them both a glass of wine to refresh themselves, and asked as he passed the mage one, "Anything else you might have heard about this army, that might not have seemed to have cause to mention?"

"No, sir," Raistlin said with a shake of his head. "That was a passing incident nearly four years ago, and I haven't had much cause to think on it before now. The rest of the rumors I've heard have been things my brother's Company brings back with them that they've heard while on winter sabbatical, or hear from other soldiers in passing when we're in the field. They've just heard the same vague rumors of an army in the north, and the unrest sprouting up here and there. There was no mention of strange coins being passed around or dragon iconography being invoked."

The Baron nodded and, satisfied he had any new necessary details to be had, turned the conversation back to the mission at hand. Over the next half an hour he gave his remaining instructions for the trio's reconnaissance mission, details of what travel accommodations they were being allotted, and some bits of helpful information about the area as it would be their first time that far north into Blode and the local politics were understandably strained.

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A/N: Yay! This chapter flowed from brain to fingertips so much easier! *happy dance*

Deku- I'm glad you appreciated the chapter, even if you still hate Rhuadhán. I'm 100% good with that, lol! I hope you'll enjoy a little side journey with Raist, Caramon, and Scrounger before we get back to Earth. It always bothered me that so little explanation was given for how the Dragonarmies managed to stay under the radar for so long, why there wasn't more effort to stop them early, so we're exploring a bit of that because it plays into plot ideas I have for this story.

I'm off to work on the next chapter, which I'm hoping will flow about as quickly as this one did.


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